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SAINT LEGER, 



OR 


THE THREADS OF LIFE. 


BY 

RICHARD B. KIMBALL. 


"Quicquld agunt homines, votum, timer, ira, voluptaa, 
Gaiidia, discursus, nostri farrago libellL” 


THIRD EDITION. 


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NEW YORK: 

GEORGE P. PUTNAM, 155 BROADWAY. 


1850. 


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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, 

By G. P. PUTNAM, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the 
Southern District of New York. 


•Glfl from 

UlC'Eetafte of Miss Ruth Putnam 

Oct.6,1931 



STEREOTYPED BY C. C. SAVAGE, 
13 Chambers Street, N. Y. 


At the age of twenty -three years I find myself upon the threshold 
of two worlds. The Past summons the thousand incidents which 
have operated to determine me as a responsible beings and presents 
them before me, with fearful vividness. The Present seems like 
nothing beneath my feet. And the Future, no longer a shadowy 
dream., throws open its endless vista, and whispers that I must soon 
enter upon all its untried, unknown realities. Here I am permitted 
to pause a moment, ere I commence upon that new existence which ends 
only with the Infinite. 

/ have finished my life upon earth: The ties which connect me 
with the world have parted. I have to do now only loith eternity. 
Yet something which I may not resist, impels me to retrospection. I 
look back over my short pilgrimage, and feel a yearning which I can 
not restrain, to put down a narrative of my brief existence, and to 
mark the several changes which have come over my spirit, in the hope 
that the young, with whom I chiefly sympathize, may profit by the 
recital. 

But what vMl this avail to youthful spirits, flushed with the glow 
of health, secure in their fancied strength, determined on enjoyment ? 
To them the world is everything. Alas, they know not that the world 
will reward them with infamy, if they trust alone to it ! Yet it is to 
such I make my appeal. I would arrest them, before they cease to 
have sympathy with every saving influence, because of their habitual 
opposition to it. 

But I will not anticipate die moral of my life. Let this be gath- 
ered from the record of it. 


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BOOK I. 


— efiireSov, aW* oncog is KVKtCiva Trdvra avveiXiovrai, kui cart rcoilrd repxpis 
arcpipiriy yvoiats (lyvcoffti;, peya piKp6v^ apcj Karcj nepi^opevopray Kal dpeiffSpspa ip rr} 
rod aicjpos naiSirj, 

LtTciAiT, Vitarum Audio, 303. 

— Where nothing was fixed, but, as in a mixture, all things were con- 
founded ; where pleasure and pain, knowledge and ignorance, great and 
small, were the same ; where all things up and down were circling round in 
a choral dance, and ever changing places as in the sport of eternity. 




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I. 

The Saint Leger family have resided in Warwickshiri. for 
a long period. My father, who was fond of tracing genealo- 
gies, affirmed that the estate upon which we lived was be- 
stowed upon Bertold Saint Leger by Richard the lion-hearted, 
for the conspicuous services which he had rendered that mon- 
arch in his war with the Saracen. How such an uninter- 
rupted possession had been maintained for so long a time, 
and through every successive i-evolution, my father did not 
explain. The task might have proved difficult. At any rate, 
it was well to rest satisfied with an account which appeared 
every way authentic. Be this as it may, our family was cer- 
tainly an ancient one. 

My grandfather, Hugh Saint Leger, by his marriage with a 
lady of large fortune, became possessed of the valuable estate 
which joined Bertold Castle, and was considered one of the 
wealthiest gentlemen in Warwickshire. This large patrimony 
fell to my father, who was an only child. 

Bertold castle was a singular, grotesque-looking pile, half 
ancient, half modern, in its appearance. Up to the time of 
my father’s marriage, it remained as it had stood for genera- 
tions. The castle was built upon the very brink of the Avon, 
and its foundations were deeper, it was said, than the bed of 


8 


SAINT LEGER. 


the river. The old moss, which covered its walls, extended 
down into the stream, so that the castle seemed to rise directly 
fi’om the water. Many were the dismal stories which were 
told of dungeons far under ground, of secret passages, be- 
neath the bed of the river, communicating with the other side, 
and of cruelties practised upon the unhappy prisoners con- 
fined in them in days of yore, and especially in the time of 
the famous Guy, Earl of Wai'wick, of whom my ancestor was 
a firm adherent. It was said, too, that the spirits of these 
unfortunate persons still haunted the neighborhood, and made 
the green banks of the Avon their place of meeting. The 
low murmur of the stream, as it swept gently under the walls 
of the castle, was said to be the voices of these spirits, as they 
breathed their lamentations over the waters which had been 
the only witness of their sufferings. I speak of nursery tales 
and neighborhood gossip, not of course credited by the en- 
lightened, but which served to fill my infant mind with terror 
and awe. And as this sketch is intended to give the history 
of my mental, as well as of my external life, I dwell with the 
more minuteness on those things which first affected it most 
powerfully. 

On my father’s marriage with a daughter of one of the no- 
ble families in Warwickshire, the castle was almost completely 
metamorphosed. His pride would not permit him to throw 
down a single stone of the stanch pile which had stood so 
long a tower of strength for his ancestors ; while the improve- 
ments of the age required a mansion more in accordance with 
its refined and peaceful spirit. It was consequently resolved 
to add to the pile a splendid modem structuie, which was to 
become, par excellence, the residence of the family. The old 
dining-hall and the state-rooms were however allowed to re- 
main, in all their sombre grandeur. The library was not quite 
dismantled ; but all of the handsomer books were re- 


SAINT LEGER. 


9 


moved into the new room, built for that purpose. Enough 
nevertheless remained to save it from utter neglect, although 
the dusty cobwebs around the wulls gave evidence of the 
slight attention it received. 

The older servants saw with dismay the preparations for 
enlarging the establishment ; looking upon it as a virtual 
abandonment of the “ Old Castle.” This was considered a 
bad omen, and to augur the termination or downfall of our 
house. A prophecy was quoted relative to the dreaded event, 
now about to take place, which was said to be of gi’eat an- 
tiquity : 

“ When ye Saint Leger slial marrie a virgyn fair, 

Shal build a new castel both wondrous and rare, 

Lett him wamynge tak, for ye last of his race ' 

Shal hee meet in yt castel, face to fece." 

My grandfather held this prophecy in high veneration. He 
was wont to say, “ With so plain a warning in view, the Saint 
Legers would stand an unbroken name for countless genera- 
tions.” The consequence was, that nothing was done to 
the old castle, except what came strictly under the denom- 
ination of repairs. Improvements were not thought of At 
length, Hugh Saint Leger was gathered to his fathers, and the 
gi’eat gong of the castle struck his requiem amid the weeping 
and lamentation of relatives, sei'vants, and retainers ; for he 
was a man of many virtues ; both generous and kind, though 
stem in his manner, and possessing somewhat of the haughty 
bearing of the preceding age. 

My father was educated at a more enlightened period, when 
improvements waxed rife ; when distinctions began to soften, 
and changes to be thought necessary. He affected to disre- 
gard the prophecy which had been always so religiously be- 
lieved. He maintained that the old castle was built mainly 
with a view to defence, in case of attack ; that it possessed 
great conveniences for a garrison, but comparatively few for 


10 


SAINT LEGER. 


a family residence ; and while he revered it as the home of 
his fathers, regarding with just pride the frowning battlements, 
which had resisted every assault, still he maintained that there 
could exist no reason why improvements should not be made, 
which might accord with the present state of things. The 
“ addition” was consequently resolved upon. My father was 
particular always to give it that name, secretly deciding, per- 
haps, that by so doing he avoided the letter of the prophecy. 
The new mansion was built. My father married. Years 
rolled happily away. He was blessed with three promising 
children ; and everything went on joyously and well. My 
own recollections are of my home in the improved state I 
have described. From the old servants however I learned at 
an early age the existence of the prophecy, and the fearful 
construction which superstition had given it. Little was said 
openly ; but the deprecatory air, the sombre, melancholy look, 
which two or three of the old crones, who had become super- 
annuated in our service, constantly wore, were always a sore 
interruption to our childish sports. Did we meet them while 
full of the elastic, happy, feeling which children so much 
enjoy, it was always : “ Poor children ! God preserve ye : 
Who knows what ye may come to ! God send ye an easy 
death !” and the like. 

My brother — I had but one, and he was my senior — seem- 
ed but little affected by these prophecies of evil, while upon 
my own mind they produced a chilling and lasting effect. 
Like the insect that flutters nearer and nearer the flame which 
is to prove its destruction, I used to steal away and hold daily 
conferences with these old creatures ; and hour after hour 
was wont to be entertained with stories of the bloody wars in 
which old Bertold Saint Leger figured ; of the exploits of the 
famous Guy of W arwick ; and of my brave gi'andfather, 
Hugh Saint Leger, the last worthy of the race, as they were 


SAINT LEGER. 


11 


pleased to style him ; always concluding however, by quoting 
the dreaded prophecy, and assuring me that I was doomed. 

These lessons, so often inculcated, began to produce their 
impression. Somehow I took to myself the whole force of 
the prediction, regarding my brother and sister as exempt 
from its influence. 

The result was, that in my very childhood I became senous 
and thoughtful. Life, in its spring-time, was losing every 
charm. The world looked no longer joyous and gay, 

I had begun to suffer. 


II. 

Strange season of childhood ! marked by cloud and sun- 
shine ; fiill of light-hearted pleasures and fresh griefs ; yet 
how fraught with consequences when the new-created being, 
ushered into life, commences upon immortality ! Precious 
season, when every new object makes an impression, and 
every impression is indelible ! And what fearfiil issues hang 
upon each ! issues which reach through time, and peradven- 
ture into eternity. 


III. 

In order to present a proper naiTative of my life, I should 
give some account of those who exercised most influence upon 
it. My father was in many respects a singular man. He 
possessed in a great degree the stern nature of my grandfa- 
ther, which was nevertheless considerably modified by a natu- 
ral urbanity of manner, which old Hugh Saint Leger never 
manifested. He had a warm, generous heart, and was devo- 
tedly attached to his wife and children. Although a youngei 
brother, I never could perceive any difference in the ti-eat- 
ment of his sons. He was equally affectionate toward both, 


12 


SAINT LEGER. 


yet never familiar with either. His urbanity was manifested 
in social life with his friends and acquaintances ; but when 
any one sought his intimacy, a repulse was certain. Yet he 
was neither haughty nor overbeaiing. Pride he certainly 
possessed ; yet it seemed a just and honest pride, rather than 
the vain conceit of a weak mind. From his children he not 
only expected obedience, to the letter, but he never suffered 
his commands or wishes to be questioned. I well remember 
once unconsciously asking him why, I must do some act which 
he had commanded, and the withering sternness of his re- 
sponse as he re-echoed the command, without deigning any 
explanation. In justice I should add, that his requirements 
were reasonable and proper, although to a wayward child 
they might seem otherwise. In his religion my father was 
strict and devoted. He hated with a pious indignation, and 
early instilled in the minds of his children an abhorrence of 
the Romish church. Frenchmen were another aversion, and 
it was with difficulty that he could bring himself to treat one 
with civility. Possessing in the main sound views, he enter- 
tained violent prejudices, which it was impossible to change. 
He was not ambitious, except for his children. He omitted 
nothing which might insure to them every advantage, as well 
in education as in personal advancement. For them he la- 
bored and planned. No expense was too great, no sacrifice 
too large. But if my father was ready to do all this, much 
did he expect in return. What he thought we could accom- 
plish, we were compelled to accomplish, no matter though 
the task were difficult, nay overwhelming. No excuse was 
accepted. In vain we sometimes pleaded that our compan- 
ions were not tasked so heavily. With something like a sneer, 
he would reply, “ If you ever wish to be anything, do not 
talk about what others do, but set your mark away beyond 
them all, and when once the n^ark is fixed, let there be no 


SAINT LEGEil. 


13 


drawing back. Try, and the thing will be done.” And try 
we did, until it seemed as if no labor was half so hard as 
ours. Yet after all, we generally fulfilled what was required, 
and had the satisfaction of making glad a parent’s heart. 

I do not think I could have borne so cheerfully all that my 
father imposed upon me, had it not been for my mother. 
What a world of feeling and tenderness is in that name ! 
Though still living, let me pay her the ti'ibute which I can not 
withhold. I should think my duty but half accomplished, did 
I omit to record what I owe to her. In disposition she was 
angelic. I think I never saw her ruffled in temper, or dis- 
composed. She was mild, yet dignified, and possessed a 
sweetness of manner which was perfectly fascinating. Above 
all, she was devotedly pious, and it was her first care to instil 
into the minds of her children a love for sacred things. Morn- 
ing and evening did I lisp my infantile prayers to her, and it 
seemed as if she sent them up for me to God. 

“ Come, William, it is high time to be up, if you wish to 
go out with Roger to the Park, across the Avon, and see the 
new rookery. The sun is up long before you. Do not you 
hear the larks singing ? It will soon be breakfast time, and 
Roger can not wait.” — “ Dear mother, I am so sleepy.” — “You 
are ! and how long has my son been in bed % Eight hours, 
and sleepy yet. You must not become a sluggard.” — “ Moth- 
er, mother, I want to whisper to you ; I forgot my prayers 
last night. You were away, and I fell asleep without saying 
them.” — “ My son, you should be careful never to forget 
them. You should remember who keeps you alive, and 
makes you so happy ; and you should always put yourself 
under His care before you sleep. But God will forgive my 
little boy, for he was very tired last night.” — “ Mother, let me 
say my prayers now.” All this comes upon me with the 
freshness of first ideas. And it is just what my dear mother 


14 


SAINT LEGER. 


said to me — I remember it so distinctly. Day after day she 
would impress some religious truth upon my mind, and so 
kindly, so tenderly, that it would have melted an older heart 
than mine; How she loved me : how she loves me still : 
perhaps with a difference in the feeling too. 

IV. 

To my mother 1 came with my troubles ; to her I repeated 
all my grievances, save one. I never could name to her what 
sat heaviest at my heart — the belief that I was doomed. Of- 
ten did she perceive that something afflicted me ; and most 
soothingly did she attempt to discover the cause ; but my 
tongue refused to do its office, if I desired to tell her ; and 
my only relief was in tears. My mother sometimes thought 
that my fears were of a religious nature ; and she would ac- 
cordingly attempt to comfort me by the merciful promises of 
the Scriptures. But in vain. The prophecy haunted me. 
And to the one of all others who might have afforded me con- 
solation I could not speak of it. 

My brother Hugh was more than five years older than my- 
self, and of course was rather a protector than a playfellow. 
He was a noble boy ; kind in his nature, quick in his 
feelings, forgiving and generous. We loved each other 
fondly. Evil betide the one who dared offer indignity to me 
when Hugh was present ! He took a pride in defending me, 
and fancied himself a man, as he fought battles and achieved 
victories in my behalf. He was intelligent and apt in his 
studies, though not of a thoughtful turn. He had a fine 
voice, prepossessing manners, and a rapid flow of language, to- 
gether with a commanding energy of character, which over- 
came every obstacle. 

My little sister was a general favorite ; and though in gi'eat 


SAINT LEGER. 


15 


danger of being spoiled in consequence, yet by the judicious 
government of both parents, she was preserved from such an 
unhappy fate. She was like her mother in disposition, and 
being educated at home, under her immediate direction, it 
was no wonder that the resemblance daily grew stronger. 

I will mention one more, and our family are all told. There 
resided with my father a maiden aunt, many years older than 
himself, who had always lived at the castle. She was a 
younger sister of Hugh Saint Leger, and had occupied one 
. room in the old castle for many years. This was a small but 
neatly finished chamber, on the river side, commanding a fine 
view of the Avon, and the country beyond. 

This singular woman, at the time of my birth, was at least 
sixty. ‘ In appearance she was tall and commanding. Her 
hair was perfectly white, and she wore it short over her 
head. She had gi-ay eyes, which sparkled with the bright- 
ness of youth, and retained all their original quickness of vis- 
ion. Her habits were peculiar. She required but little ser- 
vice, although one of the old crones I spoke of was always 
in attendance upon her. W^ith the family her intercourse 
was singular enough. She rarely came to the table, and 
never sought the society of any one ; yet when addressed, 
she would mingle freely in conversation, showing remarkable 
accuracy in matters of history, and especially in chronology. 
She Spent most of the time either in her own apartment, 
musing and reading, or in wandering along the banks of the 
Avon, plucking a flower here and there, or picking up small 
pebbles on the shore ; talking to herself the while, with gi-eat 
earnestness. The usual occupations of her sex she never 
engaged in for % moment. I know not if she knew the use 
of the needle. She rarely retired to rest until the night was 
far spent, and seldom rose before mid-day. 

As may be supposed, such a person produced upon my 


16 


SAINT LEGER. 


mind a lasting impression. When a child, she was a mystery 
to me ; and as I became older, she was no less an enigma. 
She appeared to have no sympathies; yet she seemed, judg- 
ing from her acts, to be attached to us all. If I deemed my- 
self slighted by any of the servants, I had only to tell Aunt 
Alice, and without investigation or question, the offender was 
subjected to the severest reproof. If I was ill, I found my 
way to Aunt Alice’s apartment, and received every attention 
which it was in her power to bestow. Nothing asked of her 
was refused, and she never tired of our importunities. Yet 
in all this, no feeling, no sympathy, was manifested ; all was 
cold — without heart, without life. Yet she was roused to 
anger by the slightest opposition. Seldom indeed did she 
meet with it, but when she did, the storm and whirlwind were 
fit emblems of her wrath. These paroxysms lasted but for a 
brief space ; and in the exhibition of them there was the 
same want of feeling, of vital passion, as in her calm mo- 
ments. Passionless ; possessing nothing like affection in her 
heart, with no apparent ties on earth ; she seemed to regard 
everything around her like shadows on the wall : they came, 
they went — but they were shadows still, while she remained 
the same. Often have I crept close to her, as she wandered 
out on some of her long walks, and listened to the conversa- 
tion she was holding with herself. This was sometimes in a 
foreign language, of which I knew nothing. When she spoke 
in our own tongue, her subject was generally of things long 
past, of which I could understand but little. I could perceive 
that she often kept up an imaginary conversation with two, 
and sometimes three persons, with great volubility ; and I 
could in consequence very rarely make out a connected link 
of what was said. 

Again I would steal unnoticed into her room, and listen as 
die recited strange events of history, which made my young 


SAINT LEGER. 


17 


blood run cold, and my heart beat so violently that I was 
glad to discover myself, and ask some favor at her hands. At 
last I came to spend a great deal of time in her apartment ; 
and Aunt Alice would relate to me, in the same passionless 
style, long-forgotten stories of our house; marked passages 
of history relating to it ; and a minute and almost tedious 
narrative of historical events, relative to any subject I chose 
to start. These were always free from the ordinary gossip 
with which lovers of the marvellous are apt to lard their sto- 
ries, and therefore produced the stronger impression. Of 
course Aunt Alice was familiar with the prophecy to which 
I have alluded ; but she only spoke of it as an historical fact, 
and by no persuasion or artifice could she be induced to give 
an opinion of its application ; neither would she listen to any 
from another person ; so that my morbid fears found no re- 
lief from her. Treated with marked respect by my father 
and all the family ; allowed to have her will in everything ; 
this remarkable woman lived among us like a spirit from 
another world. She came and went unquestioned; contin- 
ued year after year, pursuing the same round of strange em- 
ployments ; solitary and soulless ; having apparently no sym- 
pathy with her sex, no feeling with her kind. 

2 


18 


SAINT LEGER. 


- \ 

V. 

1 HAVE always been disposed to deny that our early days 
were intended to be our happiest. True it is, that most look 
back to them with pleasure, mingled with feelings half of 
regret, half of sadness, that they are passed. The reason of 
this is, that those days are free from the anxieties which ma- 
ture life is sure to bring. The man, pressed down with busi- 
ness, loaded with care, even though his coffers are filling with 
wealth, looks back upon his childhood as a green spot in his 
existence, while all around is drear and desolate. 

And if business engross him not, if he knows nothing of 
the drudgery of acquiring riches, but lives for his own pleas- 
ure and amusement, how soon these pall upon him — then he, 
also, sighs for the careless, thoughtless, happy feelings of early 
days, when time needed no destroyer,’ and the hydra-headed 
monster Ennui found no place of attack. 

Is it a wonder that such as I have mentioned, the slave of 
pleasure as well as the slave of toil, should look away across 
the dreary waste of years, and seek to recall the past 'I But 
it is too late : youth will not come back, and they have no 
talisman to compel it to return : 

. “ Non enim gazae, neque consolaris 
Summovet lictor miseros tumultus 
Mentis ; et curas laqueata circum 
Tecta volentes.” 

When I hear friends conversing together of “ good old- 
times,” closing their conference with, “Ah, well ! those were 
happy days, sure enough ; the happiest part of our lives, if 
we had but known it I feel persuaded that they have made 


SAINT LEGER. 


19 


but a poor use of existence. What ! has God made us with 
such rich preparatives for true enjoyment, such noble powers 
of mind and sense, and yet designed us to retrograde through 
life ? Yielding us a few hours of questionable happiness at 
first, to be succeeded by days of weariness or wo ? It is 
not so ! Who would be contented always with such happi- 
ness ? Who does not know that it is but the pleasure of an- 
imal existence ; an existence gay indeed as the bird’s, and 
like the bird’s thoughtless too ? 

The man who wisely employs himself about things imper- 
ishable, must grow happier each succeeding day in time, and 
so on through the period beyond, which we call eternity. 
The goodness of God ordains this ; the wisdom of God pro- 
claims it. 

My own childhood was peculiarly thoughtfiil; and the 
thoughtful child must of necessity be unhappy. Too young 
to understand the great mystery of existence, everything in 
life seems strange and inexplicable. A heavy burden hangs 
at the heart of such, and I felt its full weight. My greatest 
relief was in active exercise ; for although not addicted to 
the ordinary sports which children love, I was fond of ex- 
posure and fatigue ; and my constitution being robust, I could 
indulge in these without danger. Yet I was solitary, even in 
my associations. In hunting I l^ok peculiar delight. At the 
early age of ten, I was the owner of a small gun and shoot- 
ing apparatus; but I never took pleasure in scouring the 
country after a pack of hounds, in company with a score of 
noisy sportsmen, pursuing to the death a poor fox or hare. 
There was no excitement to me in leaping ditches, clearing 
hedges, or in a scamper across the plain ; but I loved to take 
my gun, and without even the assistance of a favorite pointer, 
make my way to the great forest which lay across the Avon, 
before the sun rose, and spend the whole day in traversing it. 


20 


SAINT LKGER- 


Not that I was eager for the reward of the sportsman. Ma- 
ny a time has the woodcock crossed my path unscared, and 
often have I lowered my pie^ e, raised against the life of the 
timid hare. I defy you, reader, to go out betimes into the 
green-wood, and catch the inhabitants just waking from their 
slumbers, and commence your bloody work, without some 
qualms of conscience against taking life so early in the day. 
The night, however, generally sent me home with a well-filled 
bag. 

The wild-cat was often to be found in the most extensive 
forests. This animal was in size considerably larger than the 
domestic cat, while its teeth and claws were tremendous. 
With these creatures I waged a war of extermination. This 
was not carried on without risk, certainly. Yet I loved the 
hazard, and felt no hardship in the toil. 

But after all, when the excitement of the chase was over, 
thought was once more in the ascendant. My father (erro- 
neously perhaps) determined to give his children a private 
education, affirming that public schools and universities were 
alike destructive to mind, manners, and morals. So at home 
we were kept, and furnished with erudite teachers, who knew 
everything about books and nothing about men. 

I had in all this abundance to foster the unhappy feeling 
which burned within. Thoi%ht, how it troubled me — and I 
had so much to think about. But beyond all, the great-won- 
der of my life was, “ What life was made for I wondered 
what could occupy the world. I read over the large vol- 
umes in the old library, and wondered why men should bat- 
tle it with each other for the sake of power, when power 
lasted but so short a time. I wondered why kings who could 
have done so much good had done so much evil ; and I won- 
dered why anybody was very unhappy, since death should so 
soon relieve from all earthly ills. Then I felt, there was some 


SAINT LEGER. 


21 


unknown power busy within me, which demanded a field for 
labor and development, but I knew not what spirit it was of. 
I wanted to see the world ; to busy myself in its business, 
and try if I could discover its fashion, for it was to me a vast 
mystery. I knew it was filled with human beings like unto 
myself, but what were they doing, and wherefore 1 The 
and the troubled me, perplexed me, almost crazed 
me. When I came to learn something more of the world ; 
and it was a strangely important crisis in the affairs of man ; 
the world seemed like a mad world, and its inhabitants re- 
solved on self-destruction. How I longed to break the shell 
which encased this mystery. I felt that there was a solution 
to all this : but how was I to discover it? Not that I was 
kept so perfectly secluded ; I had often accompanied my fa- 
ther to London ; I had seen much of the outside form and 
fashion of the world, but I did not get into it. I had so edu- 
cated myself, that I could not. The pageant passed ever be- 
fore my eyes, a pageant still. I had no friend to clear up my 
difficulties, for these were difficulties I never mentioned. 
Firm in the idea that some fearful destiny hung over me, and 
believing that it was connected with this general mistrust of 
all I saw, or read, or heard of, I kept these feelings to myself, 
and thus lived two lives at the same time. Had I but told my 
mother, how readily might I have been relieved. Had my 
instructors at the first attempted to gain my confidence, and 
sought the reason of the premature anxiety which brooded 
around my young heart, even then I might have forgotten 
these first fearful impressions ; but it was now too late. The 
habit was formed, and it could not undergo an easy change. 
Have not many who read this page exclaimed, at one time o. 
another, “ Would that I could rid myself of my early im 
pressions ! Would that I could overcome this fostered pro- 
pensity of my youth !” Too late ! too late ! I warn ye ; for 


22 


SAINT LEGER. 


impressions are never effaced from the young mind ; a rooted 
propensity never eradicated, beyond danger of evil. Reform 
may come, it is true ; reason may show the folly and the sin- 
fulness of yielding to fancied images of ill ; repentance may 
bring forgiveness after it ; and the soul be happy in the as- 
surance ; but 

“ There the action lies 

In his true nature 

and though repented of, and forgiven, there it must lie for ever ! 

Thus I continued, until my sixteenth year ; when an inci- 
dent occurred which gave a new direction to my life. 

VI. 

Off the coast of Scotland, but far out into the Atlantic, lie, 
as all well know, the outer range of the Hebrides, a cluster 
of rude islands, made up of rough rocks, wild mountains, 
deep and unsightly valleys, while toward the ocean their rocky 
cliffs assume a form of peculiar grandeur. Here the storm- 
king holds perpetual revel. Here the elements continue, 
without intermission, their incessant strife. The deceitful 
eddy, the fearful whirlpool, the perilous strait, are here. 
Here too are dark caverns, across whose entrance the waves 
beat continually ; while the tops of the threatening cliffs are 
lost in gloomy clouds, and against their bases, roll with its 
restless heaving, the everlasting sea. 

These islands, although so near to England and Scot- 
land, have retained all the simple and homely manners of 
a ruder age. It is probable that the dangers of the seas, 
and the horrors of the tempests which prevail there, were 
sufficient to deter any from venturing thither, unless urged 
by a peculiar necessity. Barren rocks and a bleak cli- 
mate presented no great inducements to the rapacity of the 
bucanier, or the ambition of the conqueror. Yet the people 
were by no means left undisturbed in their unenviable pos- 


SAINT LEGER. 


23 


sessions. Each island was originally governed by its own 
chief! But it is related that Harold Harfiger, the light-hair- 
ed, in A. D. 870, pursued thither several petty princes, whom he 
had driven out of Norway, and who had taken refuge in the 
Hebrides, whence they made descents upon his territories. 
His attack was successful. These pirate-chiefs were put to 
death, and all their followers either slaughtered or dispersed. 
On regaining their ancient seats, Ketil, the flat-nosed, was 
sent by Harold with a large fleet to subdue them. This he 
easily effected, and then openly declared himself independent, 
assuming the title of Prince of the Hebrides. The islanders 
continued, under Ketil, to be little else than rapacious pirates. 

After his death,* the kingdom of Man was formed out of 
them. The islands then became tributary to Norway, and 
were governed by princes sent from that country. They af- 
terward shook off the yoke ; or according to some, were ceded 
by the king of Norway to the king of Scotland, about the year 
1263. Still the government was in the main an independent 
sovereignty ; for the warlike chiefs who ruled there, although 
nominally under the Scottish crown, were too far removed 
from the power that might compel obedience, to regard it 
with much awe. 

These chiefs were descended from Somerled, of Argyle, 
the ancestor of the great clan >f the Macdonalds ; and so in- 
dependently did they exercise their authority, that they took 
upon themselves the regal title, and assumed the name, of 
“ The Lords of the Isles.” 

These chieftains continued without intermission, and with 
various success, to make furious inroads upon the main land ; 
where, after devastating to a considerable extent, they would 
be driven back to their island-homes : there they would, for 
want of other occupation, make war upon each other. This 
troublesome state of things continued into the present cen- 
tury. For after the commotions in England and Scotland 


24 


SAINT LEGER. 


were allayed, the heads of the island-clans (to whom had been 
allowed an importance which they did not deserve, and which 
only served to foment insurrection) broke out in rebellion. 
This was speedily put down. The act of 1748 for abolish- 
ing heritable jurisdictions was passed, which destroyed for ever 
the power of these petty tyrants. 

The inhabitants of the Hebrides were, at the time I speak of 
them, in the main fishermen, hardy and robust, from constant 
exposure to the vicissitudes of ocean-life. Sheep and black 
cattle were raised in some of the islands in considerable 
quantities. The soil was owned by one or more lairds, to 
whom the occupant paid a small rent from its productions. 
But little attention was paid to its cultivation, the stirring life 
of the fisherman being much preferred to the quiet and less 
exciting occupation of agriculture. No country or region, 
of all that I had heard or read, made such an impres- 
sion upon my imagination as the stormy Hebrides. Not from 
anything peculiar in the history of the inhabitants ; not from 
any childish fancy or association by which they were impress- 
ed upon my mind ; it was simply their natural position ; so 
near to all that was beautiful in scenery, yet so wild and rug- 
ged ; so near to the great commercial marts of Christendom, 
yet so repulsive in their aspect that no adventurous trader 
from other lands ever ventured there. 

I never could think of these islands as inhabited, but de- 
lighted to regard them in gloomy grandeur, companions of 
the tempest and the storm; a spot where Nature might tri- 
umph over the arts, and schemes, and contrivances of man. 

I ought, however, to mention that Aunt Alice was the first 
who led me to think of them. Whenever she indulged in 
historical details, of wliich I was very fond, she generally 
made mention of the Hebrides. There was evidently some 
secret connected therewith which she did not wish to discover, 
and I never presumed to inquire about it. 


SAINT LEGER. 


‘25 


My mother was nearly related to the noble family of the 
Venachoir, in Argyleshire. Some of my cousins of that fam 
ily had passed a considerable portion of the sporting season 
at Bertold Castle, and we were all invited to visit Glencoe 
the following summer. As the year came round, the invita- 
tion was renewed. My brother had no relish for the visit, as 
he began to take an active part in the affairs of the day. In 
short, he was becoming a thorough man-of-fact ; such a one 
as society, with its irresistible and enslaving influence, makes 
and moulds. He was full, to be sure, of ambitious hopes and 
brilliant expectations, in which certainly there was little room 
for disappointment ; but these hopes and expectations were 
such as belong to the man who trusts all to this world, and who 
seekSj and receives his recompense from it. Let me not do 
injustice to my brother. He was to me the same kind broth- 
er still. He was whole-souled and generous ; but he had 
committed himself to a certain course. The chains of con- 
ventional form and habit were fast fettering his spirit, and the 
natural man was becoming the artificial slave. 

A ramble in the Highlands, though attractive enough to a 
youth who knew nothing about law, politics, and public 
speeches, and cared less, was the last thing my brother would 
think of undertaking. It would break off his plans for pres- 
ent action, and interfere with his schemes. In brief, be did 
not wish to be brought back to the natural and the romantic, 
having put on the armor of earthly strife, and engaged 
in that restless action which belongs peculiarly to it. He 
had not, be it understood, become hackneyed in the contests 
of the arena ; all was new, exciting, and alluring. His brow 
•was unclouded ; his heart beat hopefully, and his mind was 
as yet free from the selfish considerations which after-life 
presents. 

To me the invitation opened a world of enjoyment. I 
was an admirer of natural scenery. I yearned for some 


26 


SAINT LEGEE. 


change that should serve to give a new direction to my 
thoughts. I longed to mix with the world, not as an actor in 
its scenes, but as a student of its mysteries ; to divine its va- 
rious forms and phantasies, if indeed I might discover their 
meaning. I would fain oppose myself to its ever-shifting, 
endless changes, and ask how and why they occuiTed. The 
time had arrived when the Man began to develop, and some 
sphere, place, opportunity, was absolutely necessary for 
natural growth. The direction had been already given, it 
was of the dark and sombre cast ; yet I had not quite for- 
gotten how to enjoy. ' 

I was sixteen. Our friends in Scotland were pressing in 
their invitation. I asked and obtained permission to pay the 
visit. How happy the thought of striking out into life made 
me ! my heart seemed fresh again. 


SAINT LEGER. 


27 


VII. 

It was the month of June. I had finished the little 
preparations necessary for my tour, which I had deter- 
mined to make alone ; not even accompanied by Thomas, a 
faithful servant, who had from my childhood been devotedly 
attached to me, and who was always my companion and ready 
assistant in every adventure where I required his aid. So 
alone I was permitted to go. I farther determined to take 
the mail-coach in preference to a more secluded though im- 
posing means of conveyance. My mother dismissed me with 
gentle cautions as to my general conduct while away, entreat- 
ing me to be careful of myself ; not to forget my daily devo- 
tions, if I expected the protection of Providence, and to be 
sure to let her hear fi’om me often. 

My father gave me letters of introduction to various fami- 
lies of distinction in the different towns through which I was to 
pass, and a well-filled purse, with directions how I might re- 
plenish it if necessary. Aunt Alice had not spoken to me on 
the subject of my excursion ; but on the morning of my de- 
parture she put in my hands a small parcel, and immediately 
turned away. I had not then time to examine it ; so I placed 
it carefully in my portmanteau, intending to open it when 
more at leisure. 

The “ Fly Dragon” royal mail-coach passed through War- 
wick about ten o’clock. Proceeding thither in our own car- 
riage, I had not waited many minutes before it made its ap- 
pearance. I chose an outside, and secured the seat of honor 
next to the “ whip.” Several passengers got on at Warwick. 


28 


SAINT LEGER. 


There was the usual show of idle, do-nothing fellows around 
the door, increased by a number of lazy grooms and lacqueys, 
to whom the arrival and departure of the royal mail were the 
principal events in their existence. The horses were pran- 
cing, impatient of delay. By each, stood a groom ready to 
lift the blanket that covered the animal, when the signal 
should be given. “All right?” asked the coachman; “All 
right!” responded the guard; “All right!” echoed the 
groom; and away flew the horses, leaving the four at- 
tendants with arms outstretched, each having retained his 
blanket. 

Wliat glorious excitement filled my bosom, as we coursed 
along ! The balmy breath of the morning ; the sweet fra- 
grance of the hedge and of the field ; the bracing air, added 
to the newness of my situation, made me feel like a new crea- 
ture. My identity was almost gone ; hope, and the various 
emotions that hope gives birth to, swelled my bosom ; I felt 
a thousand new ideas springing up within me. Just then I 
could have shouldered the universe, so strong did I feel, or 
“ put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes,” I felt 
so fleet. What can equal the energy of untried youth ! 

Among the passengers that took the stage-coach at War- 
wick was a young man, apparently about one- and- twenty 
years of age, who in several ways attracted my notice. He 
was rather tall and slender, of an Italian cast of features, 
with long dark hair, piercing black eyes, and beard trimmed 
after the peculiar style of the Prussians. There was nothing 
English in his appearance. Much to my surprise, however, 
he spoke the language without the slightest accent, and seem- 
ed perfectly familiar with the ordinary customs of the coun- 
try, and with the localities we passed. He conversed with 
considerable freedom with those who sat by him, though they 
were evidently acquaintances of the road. His servant, a sin- 
ister-looking fellow, of foreign appearance, occupied a back 


SAINT LEGER. 


29 


seat, and had charge of divers sporting implements, which 
betokened a relish for the chase in the master. Yet the latter 
was not a person to be suspected of such a propensity, or of 
belonging to such gentle craft. In spite of myself, I felt an 
instinctive antipathy to the stranger ; and the more I tried to 
dispel it, the stronger it became. He had apparently been 
long abroad, and from the suspicious glances cast ever and 
anon around him, was evidently accustomed to scenes of 
danger, perhaps violence. Still there was nothing of the 
frank, open bearing of the soldier in his manner, but 
rather the wily caution ^ of the intriguer ; and I wondered 
the more that one so young should bear such marks upon 
his brow. 

At one of the stopping-places, the stranger alighted, and 
on regaining his seat, his body came almost in contact with 
mine ; and as he bent over to pass me, my eyes glanced in- 
voluntarily into his bosom, where I beheld a stout leathern 
belt, in which were thrust a dagger and a brace of pistols, so 
disposed as ordinarily to be concealed from view by the vest 
and the light mantle worn over it. At that moment the 
stranger’s gaze met mine ; as if aware of the discovery I had 
made, he gave a scornful smile and took his place. Half 
ashamed at seeing what I certainly could not help observing, 
and piqued at the assumption of the strangei-, whom I had 
by this time put down for one no better than he should be, I 
settled into a moody silence, considerably unlike the buoyant 
feelings which signalized our starting. 

I did not long maintain this feeling, but entered into con- 
versation with Walter, the “whip,” a veteran roadster, now 
some fifty years old, whom I had known since my childhood. 
He had for many years been in the service of a family who 
were on terms of intimacy with us, and had afterward left 
them for the more lucrative employment of the road. Of 
course I recognised him at once on mounting. 


30 


SAINT LEGER. 


“ The young Master Saint Leger travels alone, I see,*^ said 
Walter, in an inquiring tone ; “ nothing amiss, I hope V* 

“Nothing,”! replied; “I am just going to shake hands 
with the world, and prefer an incog, to a formal introduction.” 

“And that ’s the way to make the most of the acquaintance, 
if you are wise, and the shortest route to send you to the 
devil if you are foolish,” answered Walter, confidently. 

Remembering that my old acquaintance was somewhat of 
a moralist, I felt like giving him his bent, and asked : “ How 
is that, Walter 1” 

“ Why,” replied he, “ if the young Saint Leger should 
drive into the world with a load of introductions to all the 
high-born and honorable, the rich and the noble, he might be 
courted, and flattered, and fooled, till he would become as 
great a fool as any. But if he would know where he stands, 
and the road he travels, let him take his first start without any 
help, just as you are going to do, I hope, and then he will 
find out what he is good for, and what his friends are good 
for ; but, young man, if this is done merely to throw off* the 
restraint of the governor’s presence, and the proper curb of 
experience and good advice, why then, as I said before, you 
will soon be posting to the devil, and all the governors 
and fi'iends in the world can’t hold you up.” 

I was struck with the homely soundness of Walter’s speech, 
and told him that I fully agreed with him ; but that the pres- 
ent excursion was to be a short one, and that nearly all 
my time would be passed with my relatives. 

“ So much the more need, then, of making the most 
of what time you have; we shall be at Oxford present- 
ly, and there ‘ The coachman leaves you, sir,’ ” said Wal- 
ter, touching his hat, and mimicking the tone used when the 
customary shilling is expected. “Now take my advice ; 
stay a day there instead of hurrying on to London. Old 
Nancy, the housekeeper — I suppose she is alive yet — will 


SAINT LEGER. 


31 


only look a day longer for you, and that will harm nobody. 
You have been in Oxford a hundred times, no doubt. You 
have seen all the fine buildings and the giand colleges 
and halls ; so you need waste no time about them ; just stop 
at the ‘ Hen and Chickens’ instead of going to the ‘Angel,* 
where you will be recognised, and served accordingly. But 
at Mother Christy’s all you have to do is to sit still and see 
the world. Depend upon it, ’tis the only way.” 

Walter’s advice to me was most opportune, for I wa€ just 
in the mood to receive it ; not from any wish to escape proper 
restraint, but I longed to break over, for a time at least, 
the bounds which my birth and the rules of society im- 
posed, that I might say to my fellow : “ Man, we meet in 
common together. God made us both. Wliat say you? 
what are your thoughts, your impulses, your sympathies ?” 

I assented at once to Walter’s proposal. 

J ust then we stopped to change horses, and most of the 
passengers alighted. I was somewhat tardy in getting 
up, and on mounting found, greatly to my surprise, that 
the foreign-looking stranger had taken my seat, and was 
coolly looking the other way, as I thought, purposely to avoid 
me. In a very civil though determined tone, I suggested to 
him that he had my place. He pointed with a careless air 
over his shoulder, and remarked that there were plenty of 
seats above. His contemptuous manner set me completely 
on fire. The blood boiled in my veins, I was so angry ; and 
taking a step toward the stranger, I exclaimed, “You may 
take your choice, either to vacate my seat instantly, or be 
pi I cued off the box.” 

What might have been the end of the controversy I can 
not tell ; for Walter promptly interfered, saying: 

“ Patience ! patience ! Master Saint Leger. The young 
man is foreign-bred, and doesn’t understand the custom of 
the English road. So T must tell you, sir, that seats on a 


32 


SAINT LEGER. 


stage-coach are like beds at an inn ; and as you make your 
bed, so you must lie in it, you know.” 

“A plague on your roads, your customs, and your imper- 
tinence !” said the stranger, addressing Walter, hut resuming 
his old seat at the same time ; “ for the present I bear with 
all three. As for my young master there, I have no desire 
to quarrel with him unless he forces me to it. His fangs are 
not grown yet, and I dislike to have too great an advantage.” 

“ With all submission,” retorted Walter, “ I would advise 
you to seek no matter for quarrel with a Saint Leger, for 
though the cub may not know his own nature till he is roused, 
you will find enough of the tiger there before you have fin- 
ished. These are peaceful times, letting alone the cursed 
Frenchers across the water. We have done with feuds, and 
quarrels, and bloodshed, since the time I was a baby, I may 
say ; but I will uphold, till I see the difference, that a Saint 
Leger is a Saint Leger so long as a drop of old Bertold’s 
blood remains, which they say is having its last run, but of 
that I do n’t pretend to know.” 

During this harangue, the stranger’s, countenance had set- 
tled into its usual contemptuous expression which seemed for 
a moment excited at the mention of my name, for he mutter- 
ed, half to himself, without appearing farther to notice the 
coachman : “ Saint Leger ! strange enough too ; we shall see.” 
In the meantime, I maintained a determined silence, quite 
ashamed at the violence of my passion, and fully resolved not 
to embroil myself in a disreputable controversy with an un- 
known adventurer. My thoughts, in the meanwhile, were 
none of the most pleasant. All my wise philosophy had van- 
ished. Where, I asked myself, were the strong yearnings to 
make acquaintance with humanity ? where the desire to meet 
my kind on common ground ; to knew men ; to know my- 
self? A moment of foolish excileinent had dispersed all; 
aud r felt that I was but a child. Alter a time, however, my 


frAiNT LEG.ER. 


33 


natural equanimity began to return. I reflected that I had to 
school myself if I expected to pass profitably through life, 
and that every incident must serve to teach me something. 

The stage-coach rolled rapidly on. We had passed the old 
town of Woodstock, and the splendid palace and park of 
Blenheim, and were in sight of Oxford. The country in the 
vicinity is enchanting. The day was fine ; the season the 
loveliest in all the year ; and as we approached this famous 
seat of learning, the sun, which had enriched the landscape 
with its declining rays, sunk gently out of sight, leaving be- 
hind a canopy of gorgeous clouds, which were full of change- 
ful beauty, as each succeeding hue threw a new aspect over 
the scene. 

How my young heart enjoyed what was before me ! How 
like a very paradise it seemed ! I lost for the moment the 
thought of everything earthly; of everything unpleasant, 
and gave myself up to this new influence. My revery was 
broken by Walter, who exclaimed: “I have been waiting 
for you to speak first, but I see Master Saint Leger is not 
disposed to make free with his tongue. So I will just say, 
that I suppose I was fairly enough to blame for not sending 
that jackanapes to the seat which belonged to him, when he 
had the impudence to take yours. But to tell you the truth, 
I wanted to see your mettle, my boy, and by St. George and 
the Dragon ! I came near rousing more than we could have 
carried. I do believe you would have thrown him under the 
wheel if I had not stood between ; and what a scandal that 
would have been to his majesty’s royal mail ! You saw, 
though, I gave him a settler. But it did do me good to see 
your blood up ; not that I counsel brawls and swaggering 
and all that ; no, no ; Walter Roland is a peaceful man ; but 
it requires a man of spirit to be a man of peace and no 
coward.” 

“ I feel ashamed of such a sudden show of passion,” repli- 
3 


34 


SAINT LEGER. 


ed I, “and 1 candidly acknowledge itj for that stranger, 
whom I can not help disliking, might not have been aware of 
the affront put upon me.” 

“He not aware of it!” exclaimed Walter, with a grin. 
“ Hush I” said he, speaking in a lower tone, for fear of be- 
ing overheard, and making what was intended to be a very 
significant gesture from one side of his face ; “I have seen 
him before, or my circumspection goes for nothing.” 

“ Seen him before ? why what do you mean inquired I. 

“ Nothing,” answered Walter, “ except that you will prob- 
ably see him again, and that he knows as much of the rules 
of the road as either of us : not a word more, for he is 
watching us. You will part company at Oxford, and here 
we are already ; just over the bridge, then two squares, and 
we are safe at the Hen and Chickens.” 

There was the usual blast of the guard, the usual bustle of 
attendants at the inn, the usual questions and the usual answers. 
The “ Fly Dragon” threw off her passengers, and forthwith 
rolled away to her resting-place. 

I remained quietly at the Hen and Chickens, a respecta- 
ble inn, frequented by the regular “ traveller,” men of count- 
ing-house importance and the like, but of a stamp entirely 
different from the Cross, the Star, and the Angel, which 
were in high repute. 

I had at least the satisfaction of feeling that I was not 
known. I observed that the stranger seemed astonished when 
I ordered the porter to take in my luggage, but nothing was 
said, and I was heartily glad to be rid of his presence. At 
the door a pretty, rosy-cheeked chambermaid asked if the 
young gentleman would be shown to his room. I assented ; 
and after shaking off the dust with which the ride had en- 
cumbered me, I proceeded to the traveller’s-room and order- 
ed refreshments. I had ample chance to look around me. 
Here were seated several mercari 'le men, some engaged in 


SAINT LEGER. 


35 


conversation, others over their port, or reading their newspa- 
pers. T wo or three mawkish-looking young fellows were talk- 
ing largely about the Newton races, which had just come off; 
and a small knot of town’s people were discussing in a corner 
divers subjects over sundry flagons of ale. I took a seat near 
the window, to command a view of the passers-by. The 
twilight continued far into the evening, and tempted out the 
most recluse ; now a student from one of the colleges would 
pass with cap and gown ; next came tripping by some trades- 
man’s daughter, dressed for an evening out ; then the sturdy 
laborer, covered with dust and sweat, going home after his 
day’s toil to meet his wife and children, and be refreshed; 
some servant girls, in their Sunday’s best, were talking and 
laughing very loud, as they sauntered along the pavement, 
watched by three or four young men, who might have been 
students, though they had doffed the garb of the college ; car- 
riages rolled along the street ; the hackman was soliciting a 
fare ; and the beggar was whining out the customary petition ; 
while occasionally the rigid, unearthly sound of a passing Is- 
raelite would startle me with its never-ending, “ Clothes ! old 
clothes !” The very town was agog that evening. Pres- 
ently a Frenchman made his appearance with two little dogs 
which he had taught to stand, the one upon the shoulders of 
the other (each upon his hind legs), while the by-standers, by 
offering inviting morsels, first to one and then to the other, 
endeavored to disturb their equilibrium. The poor an- 
imals, although evidently very hungry, maintained their posi- 
tion, casting ever and anon longing looks toward the tempt- 
ing bribe, and then despairingly toward their master, who 
only scowled at them, shook his head, and muttered, De 
dDnc!” 

After the performance was over, requisition was made 
for pennies Liid sixpences, according to the liberality of 
the donors. The old man could speak no English be- 


56 


SAINT LEGER. 


yond the “ var' good,” “ tank-ee,” which he used most gen- 
erously, whether his suit was favored or rejected. As he ap- 
proached me, cap in hand, leading his little dogs, I thought 
I could discover traces of deep feeling under the air of 
mendicant entreaty which he assumed. A strong sense 
of pity came over me ; and as he passed, I dropped into his 
cap a half-crown piece : “ Dix mille graces — ah, mon Dieu 
exclaimed the poor fellow ; and then, as if remembering him- 
self, repeated with great energy, three or four times, “Var’ 
good; tank-ee, taiik-ee !” 

As the old man turned away, after receiving the contribu- 
tions, I walked up and addressed him in his own tongue. Had 
I cast a handful of guineas into his cap, it would "not have 
had half the effect that was caused by a few familiar words 
in his native language falling upon the poor creature’s ear. 
He stopped, clasped his hands together, lifted his eyes to heav- 
en, and poured out a torrent of exclamations, blessings, and 
thanks, as if it were by some direct interposition of Provi- 
dence that I had crossed his path. After this was over, 
Pierre, for that was the old man’s name, informed me that he 

was valet to the Marquis de , a distinguished nobleman 

of France ; that his master, having fallen under the displeas- 
ure of the government, was obliged to fly his country, with 
his wife and only child, a beautifiil girl, seventeen years of 
age ; that, by the assistance of humble friends, they had found 
their way to the seaboard, and thence on board an English 
vessel, bound for London, where they landed about two 
months previous ; that the marquis was too proud to make 
any application to his English friends for relief ; that madame 
was in delicate health, and that the whole charge devolved 
upon Mademoiselle Emilie, who took care of her mother, 
sang and played for her father, and wrought at embroidery 
every leisure moment, from the proceeds of which a consid- 
•rable sum was weekly realized. Pierre, in the meanwhile, 


SAINT LEGER. 


37 


fulfilled his usual duties as valet to the marquis, to which 
were added those of steward and cook. 

Beside this, whenever an opportunity allowed, and as 
PieiTe confessed, without the knowledge of the family, he 
stole away with his two little dogs, which had been trained to 
innumerable grotesque feats to please his young mistress in 
happier days, and exhibited them in the manner T have de- 
scribed. The additional sum derived in this way was abso- 
lutely necessary to support the household, although they oc- 
cupied a miserable little hut in the suburbs of the town. 

I was deeply affected with Pierre’s narrative, which was 
detailed with great effect, in a most forcible manner, but re- 
sisted his earnest entreaties to accompany him home, believ- 
ing that the natural pride of the marquis would overcome 
any other feeling he might have in seeing a stranger, no mat- 
ter under what circumstances. So, pressing a guinea upon 
poor Pierre, who went into another fit of ecstasy on the occa- 
sion, I bade him adieu. 

Here was a new train given to my thoughts, and for the 
first time in my life, sentiment came into play. As I walked 
slowly toward the inn, I revolved Pierre’s story over and 
over ; every word that he told me of the unfortunate family 
was full in my mind. But the thought of the young girl, so 
devoted, so cheerful, so persevering in her efforts to pro’snde 
for her parents, in this their hour of adversity and distress, 
was uppermost in my thoughts. How I regretted that I had 
not accepted the invitation of the valet, and thus obtained an 
inteiwiew. I will see her yet, I exclaimed ; I will show her 
that an Englishman can sympathize with her, and she will 
understand my feelings. I had wrought myself up into a fe- 
ver-heat of enthusiasm by the time I reached the inn. Around 
the door were collected another group, intent upon the mum- 
meries of an old gipsy, who, bent nearly double with age and 
pretended infirmities, was soliciting fortunes from the by- 


38 


SAINT LEGER. 


slanders. The old creature was apparently well known, and 
consequently, although there were numbers ready to listen to 
her predictions, few cared to be the subject of them. As I 
came up, the hag cast her black eyes upon me, which were 
still bright and piercing, and exclaimed, “ Here is a fine 
youth, that I warrant me never has had his hand crossed by 
old Elspeth. Try a sixpence, now, and see if you do n’t have 
a fortune with it.” I do not know what devil prompted me 
to assent to this appeal. I knew the gipsy habit well, and 
had a thorough contempt for the jugglery; but the crowd 
gave way, and the old crone hobbled up to me ; almost with- 
out my knowing it, she had my hand. First, she crossed it 
with a “ silver sixpence” — of course of my bestowing. “A 
sti*ange hand !” muttered she ; “ I must cross it again wdth 
a silver shilling; it must needs be, young master,” she 
continued earnestly. I was prepared for this, and as I had 
commenced I determined to go on ; so the silver shilling was 
produced. Another cross followed, and again old Elspeth 
was in a quandary. “ Indeed, I can say naught,” she mut- 
tered ; “ my tongue is strangely tied. God wot what it means ; 
but if I had a half-crown piece to get the right angle with, 
you would hear something worth knowing.” By this time 
the attention of the crowd was attracted, for the fortune- 
teller’s demand was exorbitant, even for a gipsy. Determined 
to end the scene, which was becoming anything but agreea- 
ble to me, I put a half-crown in her hand, and said, “ Take 
what you will, only have done with this foolery.” The old 
creature took the money, without paying any notice to my 
remark, crossed my palm with it carefully several times, till 
she seemed to have struck upon the right line, then stopped, 
drew herself up till her form was erect, and looking me full 
in the face with her keen sharp eyes, she uttered slowly : 


SAINT LEGER. 


39 


“ When ye Saint Leger shal marrie a virgyn fair, 

Shal build a new castel both wondrous and rare, 

Lett him wamynge tak, for ye last of his race 
Shal hee meet in y‘' castel, face to face.’' 

Had every possible calamity of earth been at that moment 
aimounced as about to happen to me, I could not have been 
more completely overwhelmed. 

All the gloom of my life-time gathered around my heart ; 
nothing could exceed the blackness of darkness that succeed- 
ed. But pride, that pride which afterward supported me un- 
der so many emergencies, came to my relief. I forcibly with- 
drew my hand from the hag, and turned quickly away, ex- 
claiming as I left her, “ Pshaw ! I have heard that doggrel a 
thousand times before ; if this is all you have got to say, it is 
hardly, as you promised, worth the knowing.” — “ If you have 
heard it before, heed it now ! heed it now !” quoth the crone. 
“Ah ! ah !” continued she, “ give but one golden guinea, and old 
Elspeth will reveal wonderful things — fearful things — and 
perhaps a way to get by the doom.” I had by this time 
reached the door-way ; without noticing this last appeal, I 
turned neither to the right nor left, but sprang to my cham- 
ber, locked and bolted the door, and threw myself upon the 
bed, in a state of frenzy and despair. 


VIII. 

In this situation I slumbered long and heavily ; yet, in my 
slumber, I was conscious of a great weight, which hung like 
an appalling calamity over me, just ready to fall. Sleep is 
wonderful ; but at times it comes so strangely over the sen- 
ses, locking up some, unlocking others, and giving to them 
such unusual vigor and acuteness, that we are perplexed and 
baffled in forming any rules for this universal but mysterious 


40 


SAINT LEGER. 


phenomenon. I can even now distinctly remember the mis- 
erable, unhappy slumber of that night. The appearance of 
the room ; the bed and curtains ; the window overlooking a 
garden ; the very chairs and table, stand directly before me, 
just as they appeared when I opened my eyes the morning 
after the incidents I have narrated, and saw the sun stream- 
ing in through the casement, which had not been closed dur- 
ing the night. The sight of everything made me heart-sick 
— home-sick. Every article in the room which looked cheer- 
ful and inviting the day before, now appeared sad and som- 
bre. I started from the bed and threw up the window. The 
air of heaven was no longer fresh, but sultry and oppressive. 
I glanced into the little garden. The shrubs and plants and 
flowers looked lonely, and I pitied them. I next unlocked 
the door of my chamber and went down to the public room. 
It was early ; too early for the appearance of any but the 
servants of the house, who stared at me as if I had made a 
mistake. I went to the street-door and looked out upon the 
scene of the last night’s occurrences. There was the spot 
where stood the old Frenchman and his dogs ; and here, 
close by the door, that accursed gipsy had gone through with 
her mummeries. Neither the one nor the other was now 
there. All was quiet, save the occasional jolting of heavy 
market-wagons, or the monotonous call of the milkman. 

I could endure this no longer: “What, oh, what will be- 
come of me!” I exclaimed aloud. The sound of my own 
voice had a salutary impression. I reflected a moment ; I 
thought of my mother and her kind counsel. I returned to 
my room, took my Bible from my portmanteau (for my de- 
votions were neglected the previous evening), and sat down, 
determined to be calm. Uttering a short prayer to my 
Maker, I opened the Holy Book. I turned unconsciously to 
the Epistles, and commenced reading the fifth chapter of the 


SAINT LEGER. 


41 


First Epistle General of John. I read on to the sixteenth 
verse, which is as follows : 

“ If any; man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto 
death, he shall ask, and he shall give him life for them that 
sin not unto death. There is a sin .unto death ; I do not say 
that he shall pray for it.” • . 

On reading this verse a tremor seized me. Sweat in large 
drops stood on my forehead; -my limbs trembled, and I was 
so utterly unnerved that I dropped the book, and sank back 
into my seat. Here then was the solution of the whole mys- 
tery. Here was an explanation of all that seemed strange 
before. I was indeed the doomed of Heaven, and there my 
condemnation stood recorded. Could I gainsay it? Could 
any one gainsay it? The awful words were written, and 
stood forth in' letters of fire. I took up the Bible again, but 
dared not open it for fear that place should meet my eye. 
How I longed to read it over once more, and see if I had 
read aright ! ' Presently a new idea struck me : perhaps 
the English version was incorrect, or bore too harsh a con- 
struction, or was open to explanation. I hastily drew from 
my pocket a small Greek Testament, which I usually car- 
ried, turned eagerly to the verse, and read the latter clause : 

ioTTiv ajxapTia TTjJof Bavarov ov nepl eKStvris 

Xfyo) iva spcorficrri, 

Hope, which had been kept alive for the 'time, was com- 
pletely lost, as I examined critically the words of the original 
Greek. There could be no doubt as to their literal sig- 
nification. Indeed there was nothing on which to raise a 
question. To be sure, I half started a doubt about the reading 
of igbnrjgt ] ; but I was familiar with the language, and knew 
that Bgoixao) answered to the Latin interrogo, oro, and the ren- 
dering of that was unimportant to me so long as the first part 
stood so clear; 


42 


SAINT LEGER. 


There is a sin unto death f” 

I groaned aloud. I was alone, and dared not even ask my 
Gtod to have mercy on me. 

I am aware that this narrative may appear insignificant to 
the reader, but to me it is invested with an importance com- 
mensurate with what I suffered. I know too that many will 
exclaim: “What folly;” “victim of his own imagination;” 
“nervous' excitement;” “monomania,” and the like; but if I 
cannot reply satisfactorily to such, will hope that there are 
others who understand that imaginary evils are the worst 
that can fall upon man ; that nervous excitement is more to 
be dreaded than any other; and that the narration of what 
has actually happened may prove of some benefit to others 
who may run the risk of like suffering. Be it understood 
also, that my misery was such as no person, though posses- 
sing never so great strength of mind, but trained as I had 
been, could throw off. No matter what my reason told me ; 
no matter how strong were the dictates of judgment and 
common sense; I could not get rid of the terrible convic- 
tion. The fact that no human being knew of my agony, not 
even my mother, added to my wretchedness. I felt like a 
wanderer upon the face of the earth. 

It is curious how such kind of suffering levels all distinc- 
tion in our feelings toward others. That morning I was 
eager to get a courteous look from the most ordinary travel- 
ler at the inn ; I was anxious to speak and be spoken to ; 
and yet intercourse with any one made my heart still heavier. 

I wondered if those I saw had not some secret sorrow. Could 
they be happy and unconcerned as they appeared ? Sudden- 
ly I thought of Emilie; and the thought gave me a new im- 
pulse. I longed to see her — I determined I would see her. 
But how could I find my way to her humble dwelling, or 
what apology should I give, if I found it, for the intrusion 1 


SAINT LEGER. 


43 


As I have before remarked, the story of Pierre gave (for the 
first time in my life) scope to sentiment ; and it now seemed 
about to prove an antidote to my present distress. Not that 
this last was extinguished ; it was only quieted. But quiet is 
a great relief sometimes. ' 

Emilie ! it was a word of enchantment. Could I leave 
without seeing her ] Should I not watch for the coming 
of the old Frenchman to give his daily exhibition, and 
then accompany him home'? I hesitated, notwithstanding 
this appeared an easy way to accomplish my object. What, 
after all, could I say to her, or how should I address the mar- 
quis '? “No, no,” thought I; “not now — not yet.” I will 
remember her, but we meet not in this way. When I am 
something more than a puling child, she shall see me — shall 
know me ; at present, adieu ! I was now in haste to leave 
the town, and took accordingly the early coach for London. 
I secured an inside; there were but two other passengers 
with me ; I scarcely noticed them." Retreating into one cor- 
ner of the coach, I became absorbed in reflections of varied 
character. Passing through (unconsciously to me) a beautiful 
region, after some four hours, the wheels struck upon the pave- 
ments of the metropolis. I was soon at my father’s mansion 
in Russell Square, and found old Nancy anxiously expecting 
me. The kind creature had lived from a child in our family, 
and had been successively promoted, until she was in- 
trusted with the charge of the town house. It was early in 
the afternoon, and feeling no fatigue from my journey, I 
made preparations for a saunter about the city. London was 
just then a scene of extraordinary excitement. The quan-el 
between the colonies of North America and the parent state 
was so far advanced as to oe almost beyond hope of recon- 
ciliation. Besides, the king and his particular adherents 
seemed determined to rediicc the colonies to submission at 


44 


SAINT LEGER. 


any sacrifice ; while the Rockingham party, who had obtain- 
ed an honorable fame by the acknowledged integrity and 
high character of their illustrious leader, maintained that any 
farther attempt to bring back the colonies to obedience would 
be only attended by loss of men and means, and expose the 
country to the successful attacks of foreign foes. This party 
was in favor of acknowledging the independence of the new- 
styled United States of America. The Earl of Chatham had 
been for some time in strict retirement. It was well known, 
however, for his eloquence had forcibly proclaimed the fact, 
that the earl opposed the wretched policy which had placed 
the government and her American dependencies at variance. 
He had glowingly depicted the unnatural war; had alluded 
with scorn and indignation to the employment of “hireling 
troops and merciless savages,” and had thundered his denun- 
ciations against the authors of this inhuman policy. But his 
eloquence was in vain. The war continued, till by the inter- 
ference of France, the result to a calm observer appeared 
doubtful. The Rockingham party were in favor of a cessa- 
tion of hostilities, and of acknowledging the independence of 
the United States. And it so happened that the Duke of 
Richmond had given notice of an address to the throne to that 
effect, which was to be debated on the very day I arrived in 
London. This I learned from the first journal I took up at 
a coffeehouse, which I entered shortly after leaving Russell 
Square. It was rumored also that Chatham would appear in 
his place in the house of lords and oppose the address. His 
pride for his country had overcome every other considera- 
tion ; and though he objected strongly at the outset to the 
policy by which government had been guided, yet now that 
issue was taken, and a foreign power had dared to side with 
the rebellious colonies, he would consent to yield nothing; 
not an inch of territory, not the slightest privilege; until those 


SAINT LEGER. 


45 


colonies were taught submission ! It may easily be imagined 
that I felt a great desire '^to be present on so remarkable an 
occasion. 

I had not, as I have observed, taken any interest in the 
every-day politics of the time. The notorious profligacy with 
which they were managed, and the unblushing venality which 
pervaded office, from highest to lowest, made me turn dis- 
gusted from the study of present legislation. But Chatham I 
had always admired; even in his foibles, I almost venerated 
him, for I believed him pure. My father was a strong adher- 
ent of William Pitt, and, unlike many of the friends of the 
great commoner, he did not tuni against him because his 
sovereign had granted him a peerage. This night the great 
man was to speak. I had never seen him, and it might be 
the only opportunity I should have, of witnessing that sur- 
prising eloquence of which I had heard so much. Without 
farther delay I hastened home, dressed, and proceeded to West- 
minster. By the courtesy of the Duke of , I procured 

admission to the house of lords, just as they had assembled. 

I glanced eagerly around, but could see no one who an- 
swered to the description of the earl. The house was full, 
and the ordinary business was going forward. I thought at 
first that I had been misinformed, or that the public rumor 
was unfounded. Still there was an evident looking for some- 
thing to come. Expectation seemed to wait upon every 
word, every motion, however insignificant. There was some- 
thing in the very atmosphere which told of the approach of a 
scene. The common-place business went on ; motions were 
made and carried; and so far, everything was of course. 
At length the ordinary routine was over. The Duke of 
Richmond rose to move the proposed address to the throne. 
At the same moment, a slight confusion was noticed near the 
entrance leading to the chancellor’s room. The confusion 


46 


SAINT LEGER. 


increased ; when the Earl of Chatham appeared, supported 
by his son and son-in-law, and made his way with great diffi- 
culty to his seat. How different did he look from the pic- 
ture in my imagination. Where was the erect form, the 
commanding air, the fearful frown, the noble bearing, for 
which Pitt was so remarkable ? Alas, how changed ! he was 
emaciated and sallow; his wig covered nearly all of his face; 
his limbs were closely wrapped in flannels, in consequence 
of gout, and his whole form appeared worn out by contin- 
ual pain. 

The house was hushed to a death-like stillness. It seem- 
ed as if respiration would disturb its repose. At length 
the Duke of Richmond, who had paused until the earl 
was seated, commenced the debate. The duke’s speech 
was sensible, and to the point. He took a full survey of the 
causes which led to the war; of the policy of the mother- 
country toward the colonies, and of the subsisting relation of 
things; and concluded by showing most forcibly, that no 
benefit could possibly be expected by a further prosecution 
of hostilities. 

When the duke had taken his seat, Chatham slowly rose. 
Expectation now reached its highest point. Every eye was 
strained, every ear excited. Breathless, I leaned forward to 
catch the first tones of his voice. But I could hear nothing 
save a low, inarticulate muttering, of which I could not un- 
derstand a syllable. My heart sunk within me, out of sym- 
pathy for the man upon whom “senates had waited” so 
submissively. I could not bear to feel compassion for him. 
The same anxious attention, the same solemn death-like still- 
ness continued. By degrees the earl’s voice became less 
incoherent, and his words, spoken slowly and with difficulty, 
could be distinguished. It was evident that he was reviving 
as he advanced. One great idea seemed to be at his heart, 
and that was a sense of the degi-adation which had come upon 


SAINT LEGER. 


47 


bis country. As this idea became gradually developed, his 
voice assumed its natural tone j his eye once more gleamed 
with its ancient fire; his form despite of disease and age, 
dilated, and Pitt stood up, commanding and impressive. 
There he rose, in proud elevation, his left foot advanced, his 
right firm, his left hand clenched and resting upon his hip, 
his body slightly bending forward, and his right arm extend- 
ed, his hand open downward, with a half-menacing, half- 
deprecatory air. 

“My lords,” exclaimed the earl, “where is the majesty 
of the throne 1 where the dignity of this noble house 1 
where the power of the legislature? where the honor of 
England ? Gone ! lost ! shamefully yielded up to a he- 
reditary foe, who boasts of her power to humble us in the 
dust; ay, boasts of it; proclaims it at foreign courts, and 
taunts us with it at our very doors. I call upon the noble 
duke to bear me witness, that none deplored the unhappy 
differences with America more than I; that none opposed 
the obnoxious measures taken to subject and oppress her, 
more than I : but, my lords, the die once cast; the honor of 
the nation at stake, and rebellion, aided by the most odious 
of foreign interference, lifting up its head to brave the lawful 
and salutary restraint of government, there is no longer room ■ 
for debate. When the question is degradation at home and 
abroad, or war, let us have war! War with all its horrors, 
all its evils, all its iniquities, but not dishonor. Ay, let us suf- 
fer anything, all things, rather than disgrace and ignominy!” 

It was said that some parts of Chatham’s speech on that 
memorable night equalled the best efforts of his best days. 
Certain it is, that for several minutes he showed no signs of 
debility, or any loss of his natural vigor. But in a short time 
his strength failed ; his mind appeared to wander from the 
subject of debate; and his voice again fell so low bs scarcely* 
to be audible. In this he way he continued, occasionally 


48 


SAINT LEGER. 


rousing himself for the moment, but again relapsing into a 
low and indistinct tone. 

The earl sat down. Deep silence peiwaded the house. 
There was a sadness upon the spirit of every one present, for 
every one felt that the great man had spoken for the last time. 
There was little inclination to proceed with the debate. 
After a long pause, the Duke of Richmond rose, and in the 
mildest manner defended his own opinions. During this 
second speech, Chatham, upon whom all eyes were still turn- 
ed, appeared nervous and impatient. The duke closed ; 
Chatham immediately rose, as if to reply ; but he uttered no 
w’ord. He appeared to be struggling with his strong emo- 
tions. Suddenly he placed his hand upon his heart and fell 
back into the arms of his friends. The earl had been struck 
by apoplexy. 

A scene of confusion ensued, which it would be impossible 
to describe. The excitement was intense. The earl was 
immediately conveyed away, and the house broke up. I left 
the place, and drove to Russell Square, deeply impressed 
with the solemn scene I had just witnessed. It had done me 
great good. It brought my mental energies into action, and 
drove away the mists which like a foul miasma had poisoned 
my soul. I had now something to think of, which was real 
and practical. I had read of greatness, and here was its end ! 
My mind was carried away with the reality. I found there 
was no pomp, parade, nor circumstance, in bare truth.' I be- 
gan to reason more clearly : I turned my thoughts inward, 
and asked myself if I had anything to do ; and my conscience 
troubled me when I tried to answer the question. Full of 
these ideas, I lay awake nearly the whole night, revolving in 
my mind the events of the previous evening. How strange 
the constitution of youth! I had quite forgotten the distress 
. of the preceding day — I had forgotten Emilie. 


SAINT LEGEtt. 


49 




^ , ' IX. 

I REMAINED in London but four days ; and each successive 
day brought a change in my feelings. The salutary impulse 
given to my spirit by the scenes I had witnessed in parlia- 
ment, soon yielded to the old disease. The sight of the 
crowd, the bustle and noise and tumult of the metropolis 
wearied me, for after the first excitement was over, my mind 
was ill at ease. Have you not at different periods felt a sense 
of misery steal over you, without being able to account for it ? 
Have you never awaked in the morning, feeling an unhappy 
sensation at your heart — a sort of half-smothered pang — 
which you could not shake off, but which you could not ex- 
plain ? I do not stop to examine the cause of feelings which 
the experience of most will • at once recognise. I have at 
present to do simply with naiTative, reserving such reflections 
for a future chapter. I was now every way unhappy. It 
seemed as if the elastic spring of childhood had resisted and 
resisted the insidious approach of the fiend, until no elasticity 
remained. If, therefore, I ceased to feel as acutely, I also 
suffered less acutely ; but so much greater the danger that 
my disease should pass the limit of recovery. Prayer was 
no relief to me — so I ceased to pray, altogether. Yet I was 
only sixteen ! I felt many years older ; and my frame, owing 
to the vigorous exercise to which I had subjected it, was al- 
rtiady well developed. I was tall, well formed ; and as I be- 
fore remarked, athletic ; yet the mental anxiety which I had 
endured gave a thoughtful expression to my countenance, 
quite at variance with my natural buoyancy of feeling. I say 


SAINT LEGER 


/)0 

that I had ceased to pray. But I could not give up my hold 
upon sacred things without remorse, while I felt that I was 
only more miserable by thus putting off the evil day. It ap- 
peared that nothing remained for me but to lay hold of the 
world, and give myself up to it ; not in wickedness, nor in 
excess, but “ till I might see what was that good for the sons 
of men, which they should do under the heaven all the days 
of their life.” The world seemed a world to enjoy : that is, if 
one could bring it to pass, and I resolved to try. 

I had begun to answer my old question about the what and 
the why. Yet the answer gave me no satisfaction. Enjoy- 
ment? pleasure? gratification? The sounds were empty 
ones ; yet I determined to listen to them. Within five days I was 
thus metamorphosed. Three separate incidents had thrilled 
my soul, and were all working together ; Emilie, the specta- 
cle in the house of lords, and those fearful words of holy 
writ. Although the last seemed to have lost their effect up- 
on me, they were perhaps in reality more powerful than either 
of the former. A vague ambition to know and be known, 
was kindled by my visit to Westminster, but this soon yielded 
an equal place to the recollection of the young French girl. 
But the three, considered as mere incidents, were shortly 
banished, although all exercised a latent but powerful influ- 
ence over my coming destiny. 


X. 

Four days I had been in London. The fifth saw me on 
my route toward Scotland. Thougl miserable enough, I was 
determined. What there might be of happiness in the world, 
I was resolved to know ; and I threw myself, without further 
thought, upon the trial. I reached Edinburgh in safety. This 
was my first visit i;o Scotland, and I stopped two or three 


SAINT LEGER 


51 


days’ to view the interesting objects within the town. I pro- 
ceeded next to Glasgow and Stirling. As I advanced into the 
Highlands, my admiration gradually increased at the wonders 
of nature which I beheld on all sides. The lofty mountains, 
the deep and dark glens, relieved often by delightful valleys, 
produced an impression of grandeur never before excited in 
my breast. The beautiful lochs enclosed within the recesses 
of the mountains, crowned with every variety of verdure, had 
the effect of enchantment upon my enthusiastic mind. How 
I gloried in that Highland tour ! Oh, Nature, Nature, in thy 
deep solitude, what heart 'of man can retain a feeling of evil ! 
what imagination can conceive a thought of sin ! 

I had reached Inverary, a small neat town, at the head of 
Loch Fyne, the capital of the Western Highlands. This 
brought me near the end of my journey : for Glencoe, the seat 
of the Earl of Venachoir, was situated in the beautiful valley 
of that name, about thirty miles distant. Here I determined 
to take horse. I procured a strong and serviceable but 
not very fleet nag, and refusing the aid offered by mine host 
of the Three Herons, of a stout, sandy-haired, bandy-legged 
urchin, called Swankie Benjie, to act as guide, I departed, 
after many injunctions that “ I maun gang the right gate, or 
mickle waur wad it be for me.” As I was particular to take 
minute directions about my course, I felt that I had a pretty 
good knowledge of the route, and was therefore the less in- 
timidated by this caution. Leaving the town, I struck at 
once into a part of the Highlands more grand and impressive 
than anything I had yet beheld. As I advanced, new and 
unexpected objects presented themselves. Now, as T climbed 
the side of a mountain, there would suddenly burst on my 
view a silvery sheet of water, full of picturesque beauty, re- 
posing quiescent and unruffled in the very heart of the old 
hills. On one side the rocks were piled upon each other, 


52 


SAINT LEGER. 


forming precipices which it was frightful to behold ; deep 
chasms or ravines lay far below me, at the bottom of which 
flowed small streams of water ; and these, after winding and 
turning around the bed of the mountain, found their way into 
some loch or river. Again I would emerge into a long val- 
ley, diversified with fine woods and rich pasturage, equal in 
beauty and fertility to any region I hac ever beheld. The 
air was cool and bracing ; and as I spurred on my horse, 
my heart beat full within me once more, and I felt what sup- 
port real solitude. Nature’s solitude, could bring to the soul. 

As the day declined, I approached Glencoe. The spot was 
famed for its picturesque beauty. The sun was just melting 
away into the small but beautiful loch in the vale of Glencoe, 
when I came in sight of the castle. It was a fine antique 
pile, situated at the head of the loch, and commanding a view 
of the delightful valley beyond ; while on either side a range 
of lofty mountains extending beyond the sight, cast their dark 
shadows far across the vale, and gave to the scene an air of 
gloomy magnificence. I pushed on with what speed I could ; 
and spurring my horse into something between a pace and a 
gallop, I soon reached the entrance to the park which sur- 
rounded the mansion. The ponderous gate stood open, as if 
to invite the traveller to enter. A small but strongly-built 
tower stood on each side, commanding the entrance, and the 
road wound through the grounds, turning in every direction 
before it reached the castle. The walk I had just entered 
bore frequent marks of horses’ hoofs fresh cut into the gravel ; 
and as I proceeded, I heard sounds of laughter and frolic, at - 
no great distance, while the thick foliage by which I was sur- 
rounded prevented a view of the merry-makers. In a mo- 
ment, however, I emerged from the thick seclusion of the 
wood, and came in sight of the castle, which was directly be- 
fore me. Around the portico were gathered a company, of 
both sexes, on horseback, apparently jus^ returning from an 


SAINT LEGER. 53 

excursion. I felt the awkwardness of my situation ; travel- 
worn as I appeared, upon a. dull horse, which was now 
thoroughly jaded fi'om his day’s labor. But there was no al- 
ternative : so I pushed on. My pride was always my pro- 
tector. Although a weakness in my character, it supplied the 
place of a severer virtue. My approach was not unobserved ; 
and as soon as I came near enough to be recognised, one of 
the party dashed forward, galloped rapidly up to me, and 
exclaimed : “ Cousin William, upon my word, you have come 
at last! Welcome to Glencoe.” 

“Thank you, thank you, dear Hubert,” said I; “I am 
right glad to get here, I assure you. Let me tell you in ad- 
vance how I love the Highlands. Wliat a glorious country ! — 
what ” 

“ Stay,” said Hubert, interrupting me, “ till you and I have 
had a grand hunt over ledge and rock, through the moor and 
across the mountain, glen, and morass. None of your gentle 
park-hunting, such as you find among the woods of War- 
wickshire ! Wait till we have had a hunt, such as I call a 
hunt, and then admire as much as you like. But come (for 
we had not advanced a step) come ; yon group will think I 
am keeping you alfto myself. We have this moment return- 
ed from a ride of four hours ; you have arrived just in time, 
for we are all as hungry as wolves, and you will be none the 
worse for breaking your fast, which I dare say has lasted 
since the morning. Come on.” 

“ Not just in this plight : look at my horse ;” said I, throw- 
ing myself off, and pointing to the animal, which exhibited 
decided signs of the discipline I had subjected it to. “ Ex- 
cuse me for not venturing into your company under too ma- 
ny disadvantages.” 

Hubert laughed at the appeal, but immediately dismounted. 
“Well, you shall have your own way,” said he; “Charlie 
will see to the nags. Now come along.” And thrusting hia 


54 


SAINT LEGER. 


arm within mine, we proceeded to the mansion. “ Pray? tell 
me,” I asked, “before we get any nearer, who you have 
there “ Nobody,” replied Hubert, with nonchalance ; “just 
our own family, and a friend or so.” 

“ Your family, then, have marvellously increased of late. 
You have two sisters and a brother : but there are some half 
dozen mounted.” 

“ Well, then, Mr. Englishman, if you must know, the 
young man in front is the young laird of Glenross ; the lady 
on the gray horse, is his sister : they have only joined us for 
the ride. The youth behind, whose face you can not see, is a 
forty-fifth cousin of yours and mine : at least my father says 
so. He is from foreign parts, I believe ; he has spent nearly a 
week with us, and will stay as much longer as he pleases. 
My sisters and my brother Frank you know without an in- 
troduction.” 

The party dismounted as we approached. My cousin 
Frank came forward, and again I was welcomed to Glencoe ; 
while his sisters advanced and greeted me with the greatest 
cordiality. I was then formally presented to the young laird 
of Glenross and to his sister. There remained but the “ for- 
ty-fifth cousin” to be disposed of; he had lingered behind the 
rest, giving some orders to his servant, so that I had not as yet 
caught a glimpse of his features. But as Frank called out his 
name, he approached, and my old stage-coach acquaintance 
from Warwick — the foreign-looking stranger — stood before 
me. I was taken by surprise, but I was not confused. My fel- 
low-traveller, on the contrary, seemed aware in advance, of my 
presence, having no doubt recognised me at my first approach. 
He appeared under some restraint, which he endeavored to 
conceal by assuming an openness of manner quite at vari- 
ance with what I believed tc be his real character. 

“ Count Vautrey, this is my cousin, William Henry Saint 
Leger,” said Frank ; “ Saint Leger, Count Vautrey !” 


SAINT LEGER. 


65 


The count he wed politely, or rather with assumed polite- 
ness. 

“ I think we have met before,” said he, attempting some- 
thing like good humor, while a half-malevolent smile strug- 
gled for expression on his features ; “ and if I owe you an 
apology, I will make haste to tender it, pleading for excuse my 
ignorance of the masquerade coach-dress, .and supposing, 
from your familiarity with the whip, that you were some near 
friend of his, especially as you stopped at the quarters he 
recommended.” 

“ I accept your apology,” replied I, in a similar tone, “ with 
the same readiness tliat I allow your excuse : so let the mat- 
ter be put at rest. If I discussed ethical subjects with old 
Walter, or passed a night at the Hen and Chickens, it has 
neither lowered my standard of morality nor weakened my 
self-respect.” 

Farther speech was interrupted by the appearance of the 
Earl of Venachoir and lady, who received me with warm 
gi'eetings, and extended the proffers of true Scottish hospital- 
ity. Without more ado we entered the mansion, when I ob- 
tained leave to retire a few moments to adjust my dress, pre- 
vious to appearing in the dining-hall. This done, I has- 
tened to join the company, who were just ready to set 
down to a most bountiful repast. I need not describe the en- 
tertainment. It is enough to say that it was just such a one 
as your sportsman loves — where a preference is decidedly 
given to the substantials, and which delights the appetite of 
the traveller, sharpened by hard riding, long fasting, and lean 
fare. It was cheerful and lasted well into the evening. In- 
deed, I did not wait to the conclusion — claiming the privilege 
of a weary man, to retire early. Accordingly, when the la- 
dies had left the hall, and the young laird announced that he 
must depart — adding, by way of apology, that his sister was 
under his protection — I also took leave, and found the way 


56 


SAINT LEGER. 


to my apartment. This was a moderate-sized room in a wing 
adjoining the northwest part of the castle, connected with 
the main building by a long corridor, or hall, and it was evi- 
dently of modern construction. The room on one side look- 
ed out over the silvery loch upon which the castle was built, 
upon the other, the high range of mountains frowned fear- 
fully down. I threw open the casement and let the air 
have free passage through the apartment. My breast was 
filled with singular emotions ; my ideas were confused, my 
brain troubled. “Count Vautrey — Count Vautrey,^* 1 re- 
peated : “ the name is familiar to me ; a distant relative, too V* 
But soliloquising on the subject brought no nearer the solu- 
tion ; yet the name awakened a train of associations, confused 
and indistinct, but which carried me back to infancy, and 
then, running still farther on, became lost in that unremem- 
bered world of fresh images, fresh ideas, and fresh wonders — 
the first days of human life. Feeling thus, I retired, and af- 
ter wearying myself in endeavors to become satisfied of some- 
thing, at length sank into a sound slumber. 

XI. 

Francis Moncrieff, Earl of Venachoir, was of ancient 
lineage, and one of the most distinguished men in Scotland. 
He was full cousin to my mother (her own and the earl’s 
mother were sisters), and in consequence of their having no 
other cousin, the relationship was the more cherished; so 
that their children were taught to regard each other as near 
kinsfolk. The earl was about fifty years of age. He had a 
commanding figure, and a face expressive of firmness and de- 
cision ; and his ample forehead betokened thoughtfulness 
and benevolence. He was known throughout the country for 
his prudence and integrity. Ever firm in adherence to his 
king, his mild and liberal views, added to extensive influence, 


.SAINT LEGER. 


57 


had done much to conciliate those of his countrymen who had 
engaged in an unhappy and fruitless contest against the 
crown. He stood high in the esteem of his sovereign and of 
the court, and was respected as well as feared by the most 
audacious cateran. The countess, his wife, was a daughter 
of the house of Argyle, and in her youth was famed far and 
near for every attraction of her sex. She had been educated 
m France, and it was in that country that the earl, then Fran- 
cis Moncrieff, met by chance the haughty daughter of the 
great duke. Whether the foundation was there laid for his 
future successful suit, I can not say ; but it is certain, the lady 
frowned upon every lover until young Moncrieff appeared, 
and he was never known to pay devoirs to any save his future 
bride. She was about five summers younger than the earl, 
and did the honors of the castle with a grace I have never 
seen excelled. 

Of the children, Francis was the eldest. He had only pass- 
ed his majority by a year or two. He inherited the sedate and 
dignified manner of his father, and at an early age was called 
by the rest of the family the young philosopher. He was uni- 
formly courteous, and although living in a country where it 
was difficult always to sustain such a character, nevertheless 
preserved it. Margaret, the next, was nineteen. She had 
grown up, elegant, sensible, and unaffected, without the ro- 
mantic notions one would suppose a young lady might imbibe 
in the Highlands. There was a quiet reserve in her manner, 
which might be mistaken for hauteur^ but a farther acquaint- 
ance would convince one of the error. Her education was 
received at home ; both the earl and countess being of opir. - 
ion that the fashion in Scotland of sending the youth upon 
the continent for mental training was injurious to the interests 
of the United Kingdom, as they were sure to imbibe strong 
prejudices against England, which it was all-important now 


58 


SAINT LEGER. 


to put at rest. My cousin Margaret possessed a mind of no 
ordinary cast. She was neither earned away by the circum- 
stance of her birth, nor elated at what too often excites the 
female heart, the constant adulation of the other sex ; and, as 
I have said, possessed too much sense to be spoiled by flat- 
tery or led away by mere tinsel. Hubert came next in age, 
being something more than a year older than myself He 
was a daring, head-strong youth, alike fearless on every oc- 
casion, and with all the courage and hardihood of a true high- 
land chief I always loved him as a brother. Not a shadow 
of selfishness ever crossed his heart. Open, straight-forward, 
and resolute, he scorned an intriguing, crafty spirit. Pas- 
sionate perhaps he might be termed; but if in error, there 
was none so quick as he to acknowledge it. He was short 
and muscular, and his forehead was expansive and profusely 
covered with light brown hair. Ella, the youngest, was a per- 
fect fairy. She was nearly sixteen, just old enough to be very 
romantic, and to be very full of fun and frolic. She had good 
sense, too ; but as she was situated, did not find it always ne- 
cessary to tax this somewhat praiseworthy quality. She bade 
fair to be a great beauty and a great wit ; and in the incipi- 
ent exercise of her vocation, manifested so much real kind- 
ness of heart, that, in spite of petty caprices and a mischief- 
loving spirit, she was a general favorite with all who visited 
the castle. 

The reader has now an idea of the family in which for a 
short season I was to be domesticated. It should be remem- 
bered that I speak of them as they appeared in their inter- 
course with each other. The world might have formed a very 
different opinion in many respects ; for the Venachoir were 
of a haughty lineage as well as noble, else one of the house 
could never have mated with a daughter of MacCallum 
More. How much the world would have been mistaken 
in the estimate, I leave for those to determine who have 


SAINT LEGER 


59 


80 often felt the injustice of its censure and the shallow- 
ness of its praise. 


XII. 

I was awakened in the morning by a loud knocking at my 
door, which was continued until I was fain to shout that 
I was neither asleep nor deaf, and to demand what was 
wanting. - ' 

“ Thanks for a response at last !” exclaimed a voice which 
I knew to be Hubert’s. “ Here I have been making a tumult 
for at least five minutes, and not one word could I get from 
you. I was going to take a run across the glen after moor-, 
fowl, and if you care to go along, we have no time to lose. 
The sun will soon be peeping over Ben Cruachan, and then 
it will be too late.” 

“I will not detain you three minutes,” I exclaimed; and 
hurrying on my dress without ceremony, I proceeded to join 
Hubert, whom I found in the court-yard, almost impatient at 
my delay. 

“Good morning,” said he; “you have rested well, I hope, 
and are ready for a little ramble before yon sluggards are 
out of their beds. Excuse my rousing you, but I knew you 
would like the excursion.” 

We mounted our nags forthwith, attended by Christie, an 
old huntsman, who enjoyed the sport with a keen relish, and 
a small boy to take care of the horses when we should dis- 
mount. We had some half-dozen miles to ride before reach- 
ing the glen, but I was perfectly recovered from the fatigue 
of the previous day, and felt invigorated by the fresh breath 
of the morning. Would I could depict the glories^ of early 
dawn in, the highlands ! The bracing atmosphere, so pure, 
so invigroratinof ; the awful silence of the old hills, and the 
stillness of the valley ; the beauty of the ever-varying scenery, 


60 


SAINT LEGER. 


now most enchanting in repose ; all these can never be ade- 
quately described, even when they are realized. AiV^e rode 
on for a time in high glee, putting our horses to the jump, 
and then checking them into a slower pace. As we turned 
down a rugged path, which brought us close to each other, I 
leaned over toward my cousin, and said : “ Hubert, pardon 
my abruptness, but pray tell me who is that Count Vauti-eyl” 

“ I sometimes think,” responded Hubert, slowly, “ that he 
is the devil. If I am mistaken, I beg pardon of the evil 
one.” 

“No jesting, I beg of you, because I am concerned to 
know,” I replied. “ Tell me what you meant by saying he 
was our forty-fifth cousin, and what does he at Glencoe, and 
how can he claim your hospitality 1” 

“A pretty set of questions I am to answer, and all to be 
done fasting !” quoth Hubert. “ I detest genealogy, so you 
must apply to Margaret. You know there is a French cross 
in our line far back ; Heaven send us no more specimens of 
it ! What he does at Glencoe you will soon see for yourself. 
I can not discover that he does anything except talk nonsense 
to Ella, when the girl will listen to him, and that is far too 
often; and hold secret confabs with that treacherous-looking 
wretch, his servant, whose pate I fear I am doomed to break 
if he stays much longer. Why he claims our hospitality, 1 
know not. On that point I must refer you to my respected 
father, if you chose to question him.” 

“But why do you speak so strongly,” continued I, “if you 
know so little about him V' 

“ Cousin William,'' was the answer, “ you probe me, but 1 
have said all I can say. You detest this Count Vautrey — I 
know you do. I see it in your manner ; I saw it last even- 
ing. It seems you have met — casually met— and you can 
not bear the sight of him. Can you give a reason for this ? 
Neither can I give any,” he added, seeing I remainec^ silent. 


.SAINT LEGKR. 


61 


for my own determined dislike. But here we are at the 
glen ; and now for the sport !” 

We returned to the castle to a rather late breakfast, but 
with the zest and spirits of successful sportsmen. The de- 
lightful change of situation, and the bracing exercise of high- 
land life, told at the outset upon my mind. Hope was again 
in the ascendant. 

XIII. 

As we returned from our excursion, we encountered my 
cousin Ella, a little way from the castle, standing alone, as if 
waiting for our approach. I at once dismounted and bade 
her good morning. 

“Upon my word, Hubert,” she exclaimed, addressing her 
brother, “this is a new kind of civility; to drag a visiter from 
his repose before daylight, the first morning after his arrival, 
to follow yourself and Christie wherever you choose to lead.” 

“Our cousin Saint Leger a visiter! Shame on you, Ella!” 
retorted Hubert; “he is no more a visiter at Glencoe than I 
am; and as to my leading him a ^ramble, on my word, we 
have hard work to keep up with him, either in the ride or 
the hunt. ‘ Visiter’ forsooth 1 A lad that will do what Saint 
Leger has done since daybreak, kinsman or no kinsman, is 
at home at Glencoe.” 

“ How you delight to turn everything to my disadvantage,” 
replied Ella, good-humoredly ; “ I but desired to show that 1 
'was mindful of our cousin’s comfort, and you at once torture 
what I say into an appearance of inhospitality, or something 
worse.” 

'' “ Because, because, Ella,” said her brother, “what you said 
was not heartfelt ; you knew that Saint Leger enjoyed such 
excursions. You knew that he would enjoy this; and yet, 
with the petty affectation of the day, which by the way is my 


62 


SAINT LEGER. 


especial abhorrence, you accuse me of dragging him out 
against his will.” 

“Hubert!” exclaimed Ella, half reproachfully; as she 
spoke, her brother at once dismounted, and running up to 
her exclaimed : 

“Now do not be serious, Nell, for if you get into that strain 
I am done; but,” he added quickly, “who did I see in the 
distance as we rode up ?” 

I had now an opportunity of coming to the rescue ; and 
not waiting for Ella’s reply, who was looking indignantly at 
the question, I turned to her, and said r 

“ Let me advise you to answer nothing which is so unrea- 
sonably put. As for Hubert, I believe hunger has made him 
arbitrary. I prescribe a hearty breakfast for him instanter.” 

“ That will I have,” said Hubert ; “ and what is more, my 
physician is invited to partake of the meal. Good-by. It 
shall be ready by the time you arrive ; that is, if you come 
with Ella, for she has the art of making gentlemen walk very 
slowly in her company.” So saying, he mounted his horse 
and galloped rapidly on. 

“Ella,” said I, when Hubert had left, “let us become bet- 
ter acquainted forthwith ; if your madcap brother is in the 
habit of teazing you, it is quite necessary that you have 
an astute champion.” 

“I do not know what is the matter with Hubert of late,” 
said Ella; ^‘but since — that is, within a few days, he takes 
occasion to criticise every word I say, and to inveigh against 
French foppery, as if I were better pleased with it than any- 
thing else : then he accuses me of being affected, and I do 
not know what else.” 

“And know you of any reason for your brother’s conduct?” 
I asked. “ Hubert is a noble fellow, fond of fun, to be sure, 
but not so thoughtless as to hurt his sister’s feelings by his 
nonsense. Really, Ella, s )mething must be at the bottom of 


SAINT LEGER. 


G3 


this ; that is, if you are serious in what you say of him.” 

I am not mistaken, I assure you,” replied my cousin j 
“ and what vexes me more than all is, that instead of receiv- 
ing his speeches with good humor, and so disarming him, I 
lose my temper at once. Surely I am changing too; but 
Hubert looks at me so sternly when he speaks, that I can not 
help it.” And as she said this the eyes of the laughing, light- 
hearted girl filled with tears. I saw that her feelings were 
touched; but I felt convinced that she. could account for 
Hubert’s conduct if she chose to do so. There was then 
something which she wished to keep back. My heart beat 
quickly but with steadiness as I mused upon what she said, 
and I felt that I was taking my first practical lesson in the 
knowledge of woman’s nature. Eager was I to learn it, for 
my long and lonely studies had sharpened the desire. I 
paused a moment. I saw Ella would not speak again, and 
that she was desirous to change the conversation. Looking 
at her with earnestness, I said : - 

“ If you are serious in what you relate of Hubert, let me wam 
you to do him no injustice. Are you not conscious of giving 
him some occasion for his conduct? In other words,” I added 
more playfully, “do you not teaze him as much as he teazes 
you ? Confess, confess, cousin, before I ask further particulars.” 

Ella burst into one of her merry laughs, which almost dis- 
armed me of my suspicions. 

“Behold,” cried she, “my new champion! A moment 
since, ready to set lance in rest against all the disturbers of 
my peace, and now that he has the field to himself, coercing 
his ‘ladye faire’ into a humiliating confession.” 

“The reason, then,” continued I, with mock gravity, and 
without noticing this last sally, “why Hubert teazes Ella is 
— because Ella, with all proper perverseness, will laugh and 
talk, and walk, and look sentimental whenever she pleases, 
and as much as she chooses, with ” 


64 


SAINT LKGER. 


“Count Vautrey !” you were about to say, interrupted my 
cousin, half angrily, and with a slight sparkle of her fine eyes ; 
“ and if I do, is Master Hubert, a mere boy, to dictate to me 
on such a subject And the little beauty beat her foot upon 
the gi'ound in all the consciousness of offended dignity. 

“ Count Vautrey !” returned I, with affected surprise; “in- 
deed you mistake me; I was going to name — the young laird 
of Glenross. But if you insist that it is Count Vautrey, I 
must not gainsay it.” 

An impatient “Pshaw !” rose to the lips of my cousin as I 
made my last response ; but her good nature prevailed, and 
she replied with an excellent humor ; 

“Since, Cousin William, you have discovered the cause of 
our bickering, I will frankly tell you all about it. About a 
fortnight since, a foreign-looking personage made his appear- 
ance at Glencoe, bringing letters to the earl, my father, 
which, whatever their contents may be (and concerning this I 
have never presumed to inquire), were sufficient to insure 
for him the hospitality of our house. He was presented to 
the family, my father announcing him as distantly related to 
us. More of him I know not ; although Margaret, who knows 
everything, can tell all about him, I believe : but I always 
tire listening to her genealogical stories ; and about our pres- 
ent guest she has seemed to be particularly mysterious, so I 
have purposely avoided making any inquiries. Well, Count 
Vautrey remained. My father and mother treated him from 
the first with politeness. Frank has done the same, although 
he seems to force it altogether. Maggie has been very re- 
served and very dignified whenever the count approached; and 
as for Hubert, he took a dislike to him the first day of his arri- 
val, for no other reason, I believe, than because Vautrey’s 
servant lamed one of Hubert’s dogs by throwing a stone at 
the poor creature, out of pure mischief. Hubert was terri- 
bly angry, and the servant would have received a severe 


SAINT LEGEtt. 


6r> 

punishment had not Vautrey appeared and interceded for 
him. But he did it so haughtily, treating Hubert so like a 
child, that it only turned his resentment from the servant upon 
Vautrey himself. Of course there were no words between 
them, for the count was our guest. Well, well; as the count 
had apparently fallen into disfavor with all the family, and as 
I was blessed with a fair share* of benevolence and good feel- 
ing, and quite a lone maiden beside, without a gallant to flat- 
ter or offend me, I could not help commiserating his unpleas- 
ant situation, and so concluded to be civil to him. He, on 
the other hand, seemed determined to make up in attention 
to me for his lack of general courtesy. So affairs have con- 
tinued. Hubert grows daily more incensed against Vautrey; 
wherefore, he admits he can not tell ; and at the same time 
more out of humor with me. If the count’s visit results in 
spoiling Hubert’s temper, and my own along with his, we 
shall certainly have occasion to remember it.” 

“And do you like the count ? Is he then so agi'eeable,” I 
inquired seriously, “ that you prefer vexing your brother to 
giving up his society, or rather foregoing this intimacy 1” 

“ Wliat would you have me dol” said Ella; “shall I yield 
to the foolish humor of a boy, and act discourteously to a 
guest who claims our hospitality, and is entitled to it besides ? 
Hubert shall not teach me what I am to say, and what not, 
when I am to walk and when to sit.” 

“ Pray, Ella, which is the elder, Hubert or yourself?” was 
my answer ; “ and tell me truly, who besides yourself calls 
him a boy?” 

The young girl blushed to her temples at my last question; 
I perceived that I had touched a sensitive point ; but she an- 
swered with dignity : 

“ I hope you do not consider me on trial for any grievous 
offence ; if so, I shall insist upon the privilege of the ac- 
cused, and refuse to answer questions. It is but natural,’* 
5 


66 


SAINT LEGER. 


she continued, “that Count Vautrey should feel Hubert’s 
daily conduct toward him, and if he alludes to it when talking 
with me, it certainly can not influence a sister in her feelings 
toward a dear brother.” 

“Are you sure of it?” replied I. 

“Sure of it, Sir Englishman.” 

“ Then am I content. But where is Vaurtey, and why did 
he leave you so suddenly?” 

Again the face of my cousin crimsoned ; again her eye 
flashed ; again I knew that all was not told. 

“William Saint Leger, between Hubert and yourself, I 
shall be demented. Pray what have I done to excite your 
suspicions ! What if Count Vautrey had been walking with 
me, and did leave me when you approached, or if you please, 
because you approached ? Why should it excite your won- 
der or alarm, and why should you catechise me so closely? 
Is it courteous ? Is it fair ?” 

“ Neither the one nor the other, my dear coz, if you speak 
in that tone. Not a word more shall you hear from me ; but 
I love Hubert as a brother ; I could, nay I do, love you as a 
sister. I am young, younger than Hubert, whom you call a 
boy ; but here throbs a heart whose restless pulsations beat 
with a manly force. Accuse me of no conceit for speaking as 
I do. It is a word I care not for. I did but think that happi- 
ness was at stake between you two ; and ” 

A loud shout from Hubert, bidding me hasten to breakfast, 
as he would positively wait no longer, prevented the conclu- 
sion of my sentence. I was glad to be interrupted ; I felt 
that farther intercourse would be awkward and unpleasant; 
so leaving unfinished what I was about to say, I replied to 
Hubert that he should not have to wait a moment, and hur- 
ried into the hall. As we separated, Ella repeated in a low 
but distinct tone ; 

“You do not know me. Cousin William.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


67 


XIV. 

I BEG the reader, who has followed me thus far in my nar- 
rative, not to be impatient at this record of minute and appa- 
rently unimportant incidents which throw around it more of the 
air of romance than of fact. I have before intimated the 
course I should pursue; namely, to put down everything 
which operated upon me as determining influences ; and who 
that has studied his own heart, and the several changes which 
come over the spirit, as one period succeeds another, but 
must acknowledge how trivial are the circumstances which 
from time to time control our destiny. Again ; if the men- 
tion of the fearful apprehensions which oppressed me, of the 
impending doom which seemed to overhang me, and of my 
severe religious struggles, should appear inconsistent with 
the enjoyment of the stirring sports of the field, with the rel- 
ish for youthful pastimes, and at variance with those feelings 
which had taken strong hold upon me, which youth ever pro- 
duces and reproduces, and which have sentiment for their 
source — and by sentiment, I mean that peculiar appreciation 
of the sex in man which nature has implanted, and which so- 
ciety with its refinements changes into almost every phase 
and shade of feeling — if, I say, there seems to be an incon- 
sistency in all this, I can only reply, “ The record is true.” 

It is true — true to the life — to myself. And I appeal to 
the experience of every thoughtful man, to say that I recount 
no peculiar history. Bare your own bosom ; have courage 
to tell the truth of yourself; confess every hypocrisy and 
every deceit; every secret sin and every error ; publish the 
inconsistency' of a lifetime ; out with the whole “ damning 


68 


SAINT LEGER. 


record and then say, if you can, that I have drawn a fancy 
sketch. 

I have commenced the work. I will go on ; I speak of 
vague fears ; of religious superstition ; of thoughts of God ; 
of serious brain-tasking study, of relish for hardy exercises 
and the chase, of love of the sex, and of society and of the 
world ; nay, of everything that tortured and perplexed my 
soul and made me what I was, and what I am, and what I 
shall for ever be. Ha ! — pause one moment ere we go on to- 
gether : didst thou ever think that what thou art now, per- 
chance thou mayst be always ? Stop ! catch thy shadow up- 
on the wall and mark its outline ; will that content thee for 
an eternal portraiture h And when with a strong brain, a 
healthful heart, with veins full of the best blood of youth, 
thou biddest defiance to the arch destroyer, and dost wel- 
come every enjoyment of sense, every gratification which the 
world can bring — Death grins a more ghastly smile at thy de- 
lusion ! Satan himself smiles complacently on thy fancied 
strength, and fain would spare thee a few more years of life, 
for more certain would be thy endless destiny. 

XV. 

“You do not know me. Cousin William The words 
rung in my ear. They were delicious sounds to me ; they 
intimated a growing confidence, and they told of heart. I was 
thrown into the society of two beautiful females ; one, just 
my own age, and the attractive graces of the girl just ripen- 
ing into womanhood. While I, a boy in years, felt a spirit 
and intellect beyond those years. I had no thought for my 
cousin which a relative might not confess. I only sought 
her confidence and sympathy ; the sympathy of a softer, gentler 
being than man ; yet a sympathy different from a mother’s 


SAINT LEGER. 


69 


feelings. I thought again of Vautrey. There was something 
in him that excited almost my detestation ; something which 
made my blood turn, as it might, from sudden contact with a 
sei*pent. And the idea that he should so far insinuate him- 
self into favor with Ella, as to be privileged to walk by her 
side and whisper confidentially in her ear, was to me horrible. 
I believed there was danger in such intimacy. I felt that I 
knew my man. An instinctive aversion could not deceive me, 
for it never had. I determined to warn my cousin, but what 
reason could I give for my prejudices, as they would be call- 
ed ; beside I had said enough' to put her on her guard, and 
anything further might be misconstrued. Moreover, I did 
not believe that her own good sense could be entirely over- 
come, although I knew that Vautrey employed the most re- 
sistless of all weapons with which woman is assailed — flat- 
tery. I resolved, therefore, to vy^atch and wait ; I resolved, 
besides, that nothing should induce me to quarrel with Vaut- 
rey, so long as I could possibly avoid it. 

XVI. 

The time passed delightfully at Glencoe. Week succeed- 
ed week until midsummer had come. We rode and hunted, 
shot at target, and played at the sword exercise ; made ex- 
cursions of two or three days into the highlands ; lodged out 
among the forests, and drank of the pure breath of heaven 
from the summits of the everlasting hills. In the more ardu- 
,ons excursions, Hubert and myself went alone. At times, 
Frank and Margaret joined us. Ella but rarely, and Vautrey 
never. His countenance wore the same ironical, heartless 
smile whenever we met, or exchanged the courtesies of the 
day ; he had some excuse for declining every invitation ; he 
occupied himself with an occasional stroll into the woods. 


70 


SAINT LEGER. 


where his servant accompanied him, or he would sit with Ella 
in the drawing-room, telling her tales of foreign tiavel, and 
discoursing of the pleasures of a life spent under an Italian 
sun. Since the conversation between us, on the day succeed- 
ing my arrival, she had carefully avoided any recurrence to 
the topic. This was singular, after what had passed. I felt 
chagrined ; I accused her of fickleness, but I had too much 
pride to say anything to her. We continued the best of 
friends ; but there was no confidence between us ; and while 
she seemed frank and open, I felt that she was not so. Still, 
what I had said was not lost upon her. She had a strong 
mind, as I have remarked, although vulnerable at certain 
points. I knew the part that Vautrey was playing. I knew 
that he reported us as engaged in juvenile occupations, wor- 
thy of children only ; that he attempted to act the man and 
the admirer, throwing around his character that appearance 
of mystery which always charms the sex. He spoke French 
and Italian fluently, which he offered to teach to Ella. How 
I began to hate him, that Vautrey! Hubert had managed 
very well to restrain his impatient temper, but daily he had 
to encounter new trials. 

The earl of Venachoir was obliged to leave for Edinburgh, 
and his absence removed the natural restraint his presence 
produced. Public business of urgency took him to the cap- 
ital. He had a confidential conversation with his eldest son 
before he left, and giving us all a good-humored charge to 
demean ourselves properly in his absence, he departed. 

The departure of the earl was an evident relief to Vautrey. 
Ill his presence only the latter could not maintain his sardonic 
character. ^Although the countess remained behind, and none 
knew better than she how to maintain the dignity of her sta- 
tion, yet she could not from her position, exert the same re- 
straining influence for which her lord was remarkable. Be- 


SAINT LEGER, 


71 


fore this, intercourse had come nearly to an end between 
V autrey and Hubert, and the feelings of both were much 
embittered ; the more so, because there had been thus far no 
vent allowed to them. V autrey in everything treated Hubert 
as a child. He would show him marked respect, or disre- 
gard him, or, on occasion, yield to him as one would to an in- 
ferior, carefully abstaining from direct offence, which made 
such a course the more unbearable. Toward me, Vautrey 
pursued a similar plan, at times treating me with an air of 
pretended deference, when he thought nothing else would 
carry him out. I had learned to look upon him as something 
beneath me ; and I resolved to bear myself toward him with 
calmness and dignity : my chief care was to avoid intercourse 
with him. Hubert, though one year my senior, was much the 
younger in those feelings which the man alone acquires, and 
could not curb his impatient spirit. Several times he resolved 
to quarrel with the count, when Frank and myself restrained 
him. Ella’s conduct toward her brother had not improved, 
and she continued to walk and talk with Vautrey, although I 
believed that my conversation had not been forgotten. Young, 
impetuous, gay, and full of spirits, and full, too, of that deep 
romance of which poets love so much to write, I felt, be- 
cause something instinctively whispered it to me — for where 
had I gained experience ? — that if she ever loved, she would 
stake her existence, her happiness here, and her hope of hap- 
piness hereafter, upon her love. I did. not believe that V aut- 
rey could compass this, but I feared. I gave him credit for 
more than he chose to exhibit. His education was highly ac- 
pomplished ; his mind well stored with the lighter literature ; 
he had an ear for music, a fine voice, and the power of seem- 
ing to feel when his feelings should be touched. He was in- 
sinuating and designing ; a flatterer, who knew well when 
and how to act his part. I gathered thus much of Vautrey’s 


72 


SAINT LEGER. 


character from close observation of him when in Ella’s soci- 
ety. Indeed, no one seemed to know him. Was I not right 
then, in believing him to be a most dangerous person to as- 
sociate with an innocent and unsuspecting girl ? He was heart- 
less, crafty, without feeling, subtle, and remorseless ; one who 
could smile on the desolation which he had himself produced : 
to whom the world was nothing, save as a minister to his ends. 
And yet I could not perceive that he had any ends in view, or 
that he acted from any motive. He would have made a perfect 
hater, but his was rather the character of the mocker and de- 
spiser ; one who sneered at everything, at goodness and at 
vice, at the pure enjoyments of the innocent, and the unhal- 
lowed pleasures of the vile. He affected to be beyond the 
reach of accident and of circumstance, of misfortune or of 
favor, and cared not for censure or praise. I say he affected 
all this ; for I could not bring myself to believe him quite a 
devil. I gave him credit for assuming the peculiar atti ibutes of 
the fiend, reserving my opinion as to any characteristics he 
might claim, savoring of the human. 

Not content with studying Vautrey’s character, I appli- 
ed to Margaret for information regarding him. With her 
I had become more and more pleased, as our daily intercourse 
elicited the higher traits of her character. Her native dignity 
of manner was so beautifully adorned with a genuine benev- 
olence, that I both respected and loved her. What wonder 
then that she had won much upon my confidence, especially 
as she sympathized in all my purposes and plans, and seemed 
interested in my future. Yet in my intercourse with Mar- 
garet, there was none of that super-sentiment which invests 
woman with unreal attributes. She was agreeable, particular- 
ly so, she could appreciate the finer feelings, and understood ev- 
ery truthful emotion of the soul ; nevertheless she was matter- 
of-fact, and dealt with these feelings and emotions as one 


SAINT LEGER. 


73 


would deal with a truth in natural philosophy, or a fact in 
history. They were analyzed and examined, and commented 
upon, until the gossamer texture in which they were woven 
was entirely dissolved, and nothing remained of the fanciful 
drapery but a few practical remnants. My cousin was un- 
conscious of the ruin she caused. She did not understand 
that she could express sympathy and yet give pain while she 
sympathized. I observed this almost daily in her intercourse 
with Ella ; and almost daily would poor Ella exclaim, 
“ Margaret can not understand me.” Yet Margaret did un- 
derstand her sister, but each attached importance to different 
objects. To me, the former was a delightful companion : but 
I was careful, when I did soar in fancy to a wild world of my 
own creation, to remain its sole occupant. There can be no 
participation in the deep romantic, even with a kindred spirit. 
Into these high and inscrutable paths the soul must enter 
alone — as it must alone pass through the valley of the shadow 
of death. They admit of no companion — no confidant. As 
our appreciation of the sublime is lessened by the presence 
of another — for the soul to be greatly impressed must be 
solitary — so the enjoyment of the deep romantic must be a 
solitary enjoyment, for the presence even of a loved one dis- 
tracts and divides the feelings, and prevents the highest con- 
centration. I hope I may not be misunderstood. I who speak, 
could love ; and not a thought, not a feeling, would I keep 
from my chosen one. But when I should summon the deep 
emotions which well up firom the hidden springs — when I 
should survey my never-ending destiny, and thank my God 
that it was linked with hers, and pause and dwell upon tiio 
mysterious relation which unites two hearts, and calculate its 
effect upon all time and all eternity — in those solemn moments, 
I would be alone. How would I delight afterward to recount 
all that I had felt to her, and bless her as the inspiring cause of all ! 


74 


SAINT LEGER, 


XVII. 

As I have remarked, I took occasion at a fitting opportunity 
to speak to Margaret of Vautrey. “Cousin William,” she 
said, “ I dislike the theme you have chosen, but that is 
no reason why your question should not be answered. You 
must have patience with me if I go back a century. Your 
gi'andfather, Hugh Saint Leger, had a younger brother, Wil- 
fred ; he was a wild and headstrong youth, impatient of whole- 
some restraint, refusing all control. He did not possess a bad 
heart, but his violent and ungovernable temper always led him 
into difficulty. In consequence of disagreement with his 
father, he left his home when he was twenty, and fled to Scot- 
land. He there became acquainted with Julian Moncrieff, 
cousin to my gi'andfather, the old Earl of Venachoir, who 
had been brought up at Glencoe, and passed most of his time 
there. This Julian was no fit companion for Saint Leger. He 
was three years his senior, was most tyrannical in disposition, 
yet subservient in his manner where he desired to make an 
impression. In person he was elegant. His features were 
regular and handsome, and were it not for the dark smile 
which played around them, a stranger would have discovered 
nothing in his appearance to indicate his true character, which 
in a word comprised all that was fiend-like and malignant. 
Dissatisfied with his own position, jealous of his cousin’s 
rank and title, yet too crafty to quarrel with him, he 
remained at the castle as a near ally to the house, professing 
faithful adherence to the earl. His intrigues the while were 
remarkable. He was the cause of many a bloody feud be- 
tween the highland clans, who were then open to the least 


SAINT LEGER. 


75 


occasion for a rupture. To the earl he was the source of 
constant uneasiness. The former would gladly have found a 
pretext for getting rid of so troublesome an adherent, but 
nothing could ever be proved against him. Only satisfied 
when causing all the mischief in his power, he took good 
care not to appear himself as its author. Before he reached 
five-and-twenty, he became extensively known, dreaded, and 
hated. 

Just at this time, Wilfred Saint Leger appeared at Invera- 
ry, and Julian Moncrieff made his acquaintance. Strange to 
say, an intimacy sprang up between them. I can not account 
for such a connection. It is probable that Julian saw, in the 
hasty and uncontrollable spirit of the Saint Leger, fit matter to 
serve his own plans and intrigues, and in the youth himself a 
ready (though unwitting) instrument of their accomplishment. 
Wilfred was brought to Glencoe, where he was made wel- 
come, without question or ceremony. The two young men 
at length grew dissatisfied with the narrow range of the 
highlands, and planned to leave the country together; but 
before this, Wilfred Saint Leger had made an indelible impres- 
sion upon the heart of the beautiful Isabella Seward, a young 
ward and relative of the Earl of Venachoir, an innocent, con- 
fiding girl, to whom the young Englishman confessed a pow- 
erful passion. I pass over particulars. Moncrieff and Saint 
Leger left Glencoe together. A few days after their depar- 
ture, Isabella not appearing at the breakfast table, a servant was 
despatched to her apartment, and found it vacant. She had 
fled to join her youthful lover, and soon the seas separated her 
from her home. The earl, as may be supposed, was deeply 
incensed at this gross violation of the privileges of hospitality ; 
but the fugitives were beyond his reach, and his anger was 
unavailing. Arrived ii, Paris, the friends of Saint Leger’s fam- 
ilv, who were among the nobles of France, came forward and 
received Wilfred and his bride into their society. This was 


76 


SAINT LEGER. 


done no doubt through the influence of his father, who, al- 
though he refused all communication with his undutiful son, 
felt a parental anxiety in his career, and had, without his 
knowledge, bespoke for him the favor of his friends abroad. 
For a season, everything passed off* happily, and it seemed as 
if the young Saint Leger was about to redeem his character, 
and become worthy of his race. Julian Moncrieff, in the mean- 
time, had been absent from Paris, and he was left free from 
his pernicious influence. After the lapse of nearly a twelve- 
month, Julian returned, bringing with him a young and beau- 
tiful bride. She was an Italian, and possessed all the warmth 
of feeling, all the passion, all the imaginative fancy, which the 
soil sun of Italy gives to those who dwell under its influence. 
The return of Julian was an unhappy circumstance for Wil- 
fi’ed Saint Leger. The effect was at once perceptible and most 
lamentable. He began to neglect his wife, and report whisper- 
ed that he was seen too often in company with the wife of 
Moncrieff. If this was the case, it was passed unnoticed by 
Julian. Time rolled away. The story is a long one ; it is 
the record of unfaithfulness on the part of man toward woman, 
who clings to and loves him; of infidelity on the part of a 
passionate woman toward a husband who loved her not ; of 
bitter jealousy and of broken hearts ; of quarrels between 
friends ; of strife unto blood ; of a too late repentance ; and 
of death. I will not go over the history ; some other time 
you may learn it all. 

J ulian Moncrieff had one child, a daughter. That daugh- 
ter lived, grew up to womanhood, and married Henri Laurent 
de V autrey, the father of the individual of whom you question 
me. At present I can tell you nothing more; you have heard 
enough, I am sure, for one sitting, and Hubert has been in- 
quiring after you half a dozen times since I commenced. Let 
us go and find him.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


77 


XVIII. 

My cousin arose ; while I was half stupified at her rapid nar- 
ration, which although entirely new to me, did not appear un- 
familiar. But there was no room for farther remark, and as 
Hubert was not within call, I left Margaret and proceeded 
toward the old tower, a spot where the young men staying at 
the castle usually congregated when nothing more agreeable 
called them elsewhere. Here they were accustomed to jump, 
leap, pitch the bar, wrestle, fence, and go through every spe- 
cies of gymnastic exercise. On the present occasion there 
were assembled several young men, friends of the Moncrieffs, 
and the sport went on with great spirit. A young highland 
laird seemed about to cany the day with the bar, which at 
the last throw had fallen full a foot beyond Hubert’s cast, 
though the latter was not willing to yield without another trial. 
At this moment, Vautrey was observed emerging from a thick 
copse, and coming toward the old tower on his way to the 
castle followed by his servant. As he passed the spot, he 
cast toward us one of his most contemptuous looks. In so 
doing, his eyes rested a moment on Hubert, who, nettled per- 
haps at his late failure, was more ready to take offence than 
usual : “You are particularly gracious this moniing, count,” 
cried Hubert ; “I feel flattered by such a mark of, I may say, 
royal favor, that you should deign to pass so near us. Per- 
haps you will condescend still further, and consent to take 
your turn at the bar.” 

“ When I try my strength, I prefer to select the place and 
opportunity ; and then my antagonists must be replied 

Vautrey, slowly. 


78 


SAINT LEGER. 


Now by the best blood that ever ran in your veins, or in 
any of your race, I will not bear such insolence !” said Hubert. 
“ Count Vautrey, what mean you by saying that your antag- 
onists must be men 

Simply, that in age, in temper, and in character, you are 
a boy, if you must know,” retorted the other, coolly. 

No more of this to me, count !” said Hubert, in a changed 
tone, and with a great deal of dignity. “ I have borne with 
you too long already, and were you twenty times the guest 
of my father, I would not hesitate to call you to an account.” 

“Well, what do you wish?” asked Vautrey, in an affected 
tone. 

“ Wish !” sternly demanded Hubert. “ Wish ? I wish for 
satisfaction for repeated insults ; and after that is afforded, I 
desire that you would rid my father’s house of your detestable 
presence.” 

“ To the former, I suppose, there may be no objections,” 
said Vautrey; “the latter maybe more difficult of accom- 
plishment.” 

Frank now came forward, and taking his brother by the 
ai‘m, endeavored to appease him. 

“ Do not,” he said, “ forget the count’s position with us. 
Bear with him, therefore, for that reason, if for no other. 
Count Vautrey, I appeal to you,” continued Frank, “not to 
put my brother in a situation where his feelings as a man con- 
flict with the conduct due to a guest under our roof. In the 
absence of my father, I control; and there must be no strife 
between you.” 

“Who was the aggressor ?” replied Vautrey, sneeringly. 
“ I do not meddle with the young man, but he must keep 
clear of my path, that’s all.” So saying, he turned and went 
his way. 

“ Brother,” said Frank, “ you have been over-hasty in this 
matter. I regret it. Do, I beg of you, make amends by a 


SAINT LEQEB. 


79 

considerate forbearance. Let us have no brawls while the 
earl is absent.” 

Be it so,” answered Hubert, deliberately. “ You are in 
the right. But we must not meet. My friends,” he contin- 
ued, addressing the young men near him, “ which of you will 
call me your guest for a few days, and thus relieve me from 
this dilemma 1” 

There was a most hearty response to this appeal from the 
lips of every one present ; but the young Highland laird, who 
had come off conqueror in the last trial of strength, insisted 
on his right to a preference. 

“ Moncrieff,” said he, “ it is no weary way to Kilchurn 
Castle, and ’tis mony a day sin’ the banks of Loch Awe ha’ 

seen us in company; and — and my bluid is up, and I 

canna say more. I ken your position, my lad, but ye shall 
na be bearded in your ain castle, your hands tied the while, 
and your true friends ganging their ain gait as if nothing had 
happened. By the tartan I wear, na’ne shall control me, 
and I’ll question nabody of what I’ll do ; so you will gang 
with me ?” 

This instant, Glen!” cried Hubert; ‘‘here is my hand 
on it ; only let it suffice that I become your guest ; forget the 
cause, together with the prime mover in this matter,” added 
he, fearing from what the young laird said that he intended 
to take up his quarrel : “ come, let us mount directly.” 

“ Stay but a moment,” answered Glenfinglas, for that was 
his name, (called familiarly by his companions “ Glen”), “ I 
have a little business at the castle, but I’ll soon join ye.” 

“Follow him, Hubert,” said Frank, “ and prevent farther 
scandal in the absence of our father.” 

“ It is of no use, Frank,” said his brother. “ You may try 
your hand if you like ; but Glen, with a generous, honest 


80 


SAINT LEGER. 


heart, is as obstinate as a goat. You can do nothing with 
him. I would rather undertake the count.^^ 

That will I never do !’^ said Frank, sternly, and in a tone 
which surprised us. “It is enough that I have interfered as 
my father’s representative, when interference was a duty. I 
would still preserve peace, but not by asking a favor from him.” 

“ That may I, nevertheless,” said I, “ and without dishonor.” 
For I felt alarmed at the turn affairs were taking, not that I 
cared for Vautrey, but I apprehended danger in some way to 
the honest-hearted fellow who had so promptly stepped for- 
ward to cover a friend’s insult. So leaving the group — Glen- 
finglas had previously departed — I directed my steps toward 
the quarter where Vautrey was last seen, thinking that he 
might not have entered the castle, in which case I should meet 
him before the former would arrive. 

I was not mistaken. Among a clump of trees, in the rear 
of the castle, I discovered the count in close conference with 
his servant. The conversation was carried on in a low tone, 
but was rather animated, at least on the part of the latter. 
Disliking to appear as having stolen upon them unawai'es, I 
put myself in view as soon as possble. As I came up, the 
servant disappeared. Vautrey regarded me for a moment 
with surprise, but quickly regaining his ordinary sardonic 
manner, bowed stiffly, and looked as if he would ask, “ Well, 
what is coming now I spoke at once : 

“ Count Vautrey,” said I, “ we do not profess to be friends; 
indeed, we are not ; but I have taken almost a friend’s liberty 
in saying to you in a word, that a young laird, by name Gleii- 
finglas, angered at what he considers an insult from you to 
Hubert Moncrieff, is determined to seek you and make it a 
cause of quarrel. I have come, unrequested by any person, 
to desire that, while you remain at Glencoe, you will avoid 
any encounter with him. This is all I would say to Count 
Vautrey.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


81 


While I was speaking, I could not discover that Vautrey’s 
countenance changed a muscle. One of his habitual sneers 
played over his face, as I concluded, and then he asked : 

“ May I inquire the reason of Mr. Saint Leger’s solicitude 
in such an affair 

“ Because,” I replied, “ under the circumstances, it would 
prove particularly disagreeable to the Earl of Venachoir, now 
absent, as well as to every member of his family.” 

“And is that all?” said Vautrey. 

“ Plainly, no,” continued I, deliberately. “ In the event of 
an encounter, I fear, for the honest-hearted Glenfinglas, your 
superior skill and experience in the use of deadly weapons.” 

A grim smile played across Vautrey’s features, showing 
that he acknowledged this doubtful compliment, while my 
avowed anxiety for the young laird carried with it such an 
indifference toward himself that it filled his bosom with rage. 

“ Boy !” he exclaimed, “ you have come on a simple er- 
rand; simple every way. I am no brawler. I seek not to 
quarrel on slight occasion, much less would I bicker with 
children. But let them beware how they put themselves in 
my way. I shall not turn aside; they must — or be gored. 
And, William Henry Saint Leger,” added Vautrey, coming 
close up to me, and speaking between his teeth, “ you who as- 
sume to be more than the child you are, know that henceforth 
I will take you for what you wish to be considered — a man. 
You said that we were not friends. I say more than that. I 
tell you something you will have cause to remember your 
whole lifetime ; therefore forget it not : We are enemies !” 

“ Fool !” replied T, indignantly ; “ you forget that you are 
not practising a part to overawe some thick-skulled clown, or 
to astonish a young girl, grown romantic but not sensible. 
Bring your wares to a market where they will serve you. 

At this instant, and before Vautrey had an opportunity to 
6 


SAINT LEGER. 


reply, G-lenfinglas came up, and in considerable haste, ex- 
claimed : 

“Now, Saint Leger, if you anticipate me, it will na be the 
handsome thing. Count Vautrey, I ha’ the honor to wish 
your lordship gude morning, and to say, sin’ my young friend 
Hubert Moncrieff, is not at liberty to answer you as he would, 
I claim the privilege of standing in his place.” 

“ You may stand where it pleases you, sir,” retorted Vaut- 
rey, sneeringly, “ so long as you stand not in my light.” 

“Na, na, count; you canna misunderstand me, and you 
shall na. I ask satisfaction of ye for the insult which ye ha* 
given to Hubert, I ask it, and ye shall grant it.” 

“Children, all of you!” said Vautrey, impatiently, using 
his favorite term of opprobrium ; “ t have no cause for dead- 
ly quarrel with Hubert Moncrieff, and you I know not except 
as a stranger ; therefore beware how you put me at bay.” 

Thus spoke Vautrey, evidently vexed at the serious com- 
plexion matters were taking. He was doubtless astonished 
at Hubert’s sudden outbreak. Knowing that he had borne 
so much, he had mistaken his character, and treated him real- 
ly like a child. He gave Hubert no credit for the considera- 
tion which he really possessed, and he was consequently the 
more vexed by the incident at the old tower, which certainly 
took him by surprise ; although his imperturbable indiffer- 
ence of manner had brought him thus far out of the difficulty. 
But here was a new obstacle, in the shape of the honest and 
determined, not to say obstinate Glenfinglas. Although too 
scornful to admit it, V autrey was nevertheless desirous to get 
off without further quarrel with the laird. The latter, on the 
other hand, began to mistake the character of Vautrey. In- 
censed at his insulting manner, he was ready to charge his 
desire to avoid a rencontre to a lack of courage. He 
changed his tone somewhat, as Vautrey concluded his last 
sentence, and said : 


SAINT lEGER. 


83 


“ I dinna understand such excuses, count. In the high- 
lands they do not pass for ready siller. In a word, will ye 
gi'e me the honorable satisfaction I demand, standing in the 
place and stead of Hubert Moncrielf, or will ye not 

“ I recognise no right which you claim to represent young 
Moncrieff, and it will be time enough to answer you further 
when I am satisfied of it. I shall not say more at present:’' 
and with this, Vautrey turned to depart. 

Glenfinglas, doubly incensed by this response, stepped 
toward him, and laying his hand lightly upon his shoulder, 
said, in a low tone : 

“I did na think Count Vautrey was a coward!” 

Rapid as lightning, Vautrey drew his dagger, which was 
concealed under the folds of his vest ; rapid as lightning, and 
almost before Glenfinglas had uttered the last word, did the 
blade descend into his breast, and he fell at full length, car- 
ried down by the force of the blow. 

Astounded as I was by the suddenness of the action, I 
sprang forward, and bent down over the prostrate youth. At 
the same moment Vautrey coolly drew his weapon from the 
wound. 

“An escape, after all!” he muttered; “my hand is out. 
Six months ago my weapon would not have served me thus.” 
Turning to me, he added: “Remember, young man, that I 
was not the assailant ;” and disappeared among the trees. 

Glenfinglas had fainted. I immediately gave the alarm, and 
he was carried to the castle. On examination, it was found 
that the blow was planted so as to penetrate the lungs, but 
was turned aside by a large buckle which the young laird, 
wore, and which served him for various uses when sporting. 
It had served him now. The weapon of Vautrey had glanced 
from the outer edge of this buckle, making a deep though 
not dangerous wound in the breast and shoulder. 


84 


SAINT LEGER. 


The whole house was in commotion. I related the occur- 
rence calmly and minutely, The youth present were for in- 
stant vengeance, but Frank and Hubert both interfered : 

“ He shall leave the castle,” said they, instantly ; but he 
must leave it unharmed, and without danger of harm, while 
in this vicinity.” 

This was finally agreed to, and Frank went to carry the 
resolution into effect. It was unnecessary ; V autrey had left ; 
his servant remaining behind only long enough to announce 
his departure and secure his luggage. 

XIX. 

The day closed. It had been an eventful one to me. I 
had witnessed the strife of human passion; I had my- 
self participated in it; I beheld upon how slight a cause 
blood could flow ; and I trembled when I considered what 
my own thoughts had been, and how envenomed my own 
feelings had for the moment become ; and I murmur- 
ed, “ Oh, my Father, are we made for this !” I could 
not control myself. I hastened to my chamber, and there 
in its solitude I prayed once more. It seemed as if I 
was launched upon life ; breakers were before and around 
me ; I could not recede ; on, on I must gc ; and again I pray- 
ed — and was comforted. 

Had I found abiding peace, or was it anly the first recoil 
of the heart’s emotion upon itself, before the untried world 
of strife on which it had entered ? Had Faith led me to 
prayer, or did Conscience, tremblingly alive to the realities 
of existence, flutter like a scared bird, and seek to return its 
trustHto God 1 


SAINT LEGER. 


S5 


XX. 

Time went on. The young laird recovered slowly from the 
wound received from Vautrey, but a deeper wound rankled 
in his heart. The disgrace of being struck to the earth by an 
antagonist, without the power of resistance, was the all-ab- 
sorbing idea which filled his mind. For myself, I was not 
versed in the code of honor, and could judge of an insult or 
an affront only by its natural effect upon my feelings. A 
cowardly and assassin-like attack upon my person I should 
have resisted as I would the assault of some dangerous brute ; 
but to suppose that such an attack could bring with it insult 
or disgrace, seemed preposterous. Not so reasoned Glen- 
finglas. A true Highlander, he possessed the faults as well 
as the virtues of his race ; one of the former was, never to 
forgive an injury : a supposed insult was remembered even 
to the third and fourth generation. What a strange attribute ! 
WTience did man derive it ? Of a certainty not from God 
his CREATOR. Here was matter then for deadly feud for a 
century to come, should the instruments survive to carry it on. 

The moment he was sufficiently recovered, Glenfinglas was 
conveyed to his home. The laird had a servant who usually 
attended him, a young, shy, wild-looking highland carle, 
named Donacha Mac Ian. He belonged to a roving robber 
clan which had for years infested the vicinity of Glencoe, and 
became, by their numerous depredations, a constant source 
of terror to both highland and lowland, until the Duke of 
Argyle, under commission from the crown, undertook their 
extirpation. This was carried out almost to the letter. The 
clan was surprised while reposing in fancied security in one 


86 


SAINT LEGER. 


of their most secluded fastnesses. This retreat had oeen dis- 
covered by the capture of one of their -svomen, who by threats 
of instant destruction if she did not disclose the place where 
her people were secreted, and by the promise that her own 
life and that of her child should be spared if she would point 
it out, was prevailed upon to betray it. Glenfinglas, then not 
much more than a boy, had accompanied his father on the 
expedition, and was present when the woman bargained for 
the life of her child. The assault was made and the surprise 
most successful. The devoted clan, cut off from all means 
of escape, their weapons having been first secured, were 
massacred without the power of resistance. Three or four 
of the assailants accompanied Jean Mac Ian (for that was her 
name) to protect her boy from the general slaughter. They 
did not find the lad in the spot where his mother had left 
him, and almost frantic with apprehension, she flew from place 
to place, urging the men to follow her. Young Grlenfinglas, 
who had joined the party, was the only one who felt sufficient- 
ly interested in her fate, or that of the child, to keep pace 
with her. Of a nature somewhat sluggish, he was energetic 
and daring when roused into action. At length, Jean Mac 
Jan discovered her son at a distance, surrounded by several 
of Argyle’s men, who having driven the lad from one retreat 
to another, were amusing themselves, before putting him to 
death, with aiming at him rapid blows and thrusts w’ith knife 
and broadsword, in order to witness his singular dexterity in 
avoiding them. The poor boy was unarmed, and almost 
naked; he had retreated to the angle of a rock, where he 
stood penned up by his assaiVants, now turning adroitly to one 
side, now bending dexterously to the other, as successive 
thrusts were made, while his eyes flashed that peculiar fire 
which is produced only by the feeling of intense and deadly 
hate, coupled with mortal despair and desperation. Tired 
of the sport , the soldiers were about to despatch their victim, 


SAINT LEGER. 


87 


when the frantic mother burst through them, and casting her 
arms around the hoy, sunk senseless at his side. Glenfinglas 
came up a moment after, and just in time to save both mother 
and son. Turning aside their weapons, he exclaimed in a 
fierce tone : “Ye fause cullions ! is this the way to keep faith 
and obey orders? Ye cowardly knaves, to be torturing ane 
of your ain kin as if he were a wild beast, j ust in a word like 
the bluidy thieving karnes ye come out against ! The lad is 
safe by MacCallum More’s order, an’ he were not, ye suld 
ha’ pit him to death like braw men, and not torture him like 
brute beasts.” 

It is most probable that the remonstrance of the stripling 
would have been wasted on the fierce highlanders, now be- 
come excited by strife and bloodshed, had not Argyle’s name 
been mentioned ; as it was, they desisted sullenly from further 
prosecuting their cruel sport, and left the ground, after re- 
marking that “ it wadna be mickle gude to keep the skeen 
fra the hause of siccan a skellum.” It would have been in- 
human to have left the poor wretches to the chances of further 
violence ; so the youth resolved to continue his protection ; 
he took them under his charge, and finally brought them to 
Kilchurn Castle. Here the woman died in about a twelve- 
month ; enjoining upon her son, who had not in the least 
changed from the wild untamed savage he at first appeared ; 
to be always devoted and leal to the house of Glenfinglas, and 
especially to the cause of the young laird, who had saved his 
own and his mother’s life. The boy listened with heedfiil 
attention to all that she said, and never left her until her eyes 
were closed in death. Not a tear did he shed, not a sigh es- 
caped him ; but that same night Donacha Mac Ian left the 
castle and was not seen again for more than a week. When 
he did return, he was emaciated and haggard, and in the last 
state of destitution ; his clothes were nearly torn off* from his 
body ; and his hair, always in frightful disorder, looked more 


88 


SAINT LEGEE. 


frightful than ever. On being questioned about his absence, 
he only exclaimed “the worriecow ! — the wraith!*’ and 
avoided all farther explanation. 

The fact doubtless was, that Donacha, overcome by his 
passionate grief at the loss of his only surviving relative, and 
not wishing to give vent to it in the presence of others, had 
fled into the wilderness, where for a time he was in a state of 
frenzy akin to madness. No further notice was ever taken 
of this strange incident, and the lad soon recovered from the 
effects of it. He now attached himself to his young master, 
after the most devoted manner. Fierce and vindictive in his 
passions, the latter could always curb and control him at will; 
but to every one else he was the same wild savage as at first. 
As the young laird grew up, he began to have a pride in the 
relation which subsisted between Donacha and himself. He 
had beside a real affection for the lad, for never had he swerved 
in his devotion, or proved recreant in moments of peril. More 
than once had he saved the life of his master by freely periling 
his own. He would endure fatigue, hunger, privation of ev- 
ery kind, in his service, while he continued wild and intracta- 
ble in every other respect. The above account I obtained 
from Hubert Moncrieff, who narrated it to me as I have now 
written it. 

On the day when Glenfinglas was struck down byVautrey, 
Donacha had accompanied his master to Glencoe. I remem- 
ber to have seen him near the old tower while the sport 
was going on, and he must have heard what passed between 
V autrey and the Moncrieffs. He left the ground at the same 
time that Glenfinglas started to find the count, and no one saw 
him afterward. He came not to render his master any as- 
sistance, neither did he return to Kilchurn Castle, The sup- 
posed defection of this strange but faithful adherent was a 
source of deep mortification to the young man, and preyed 
strongly on his mind during his illness. Suspicion would at 


SAINT LEGER. 


89 


times whisper that Donacha was after all a traitor, and in 
some way leagued with V autrey or his servant ; hut as there 
was nothing reasonable in so idle a supposition, it was not 
long entertained. Again the thought would occur that Donacha 
might have fallen in attempting to revenge the supposed death 
of his laird, but this seemed heo-dly possible, considering his 
exti'aordinary strength and agility ; besides, no one could tell 
whether Donacha knew of his master^s hurt, as he was not 
seen near him at the time. The matter remained in mystery, 
and some time after, upon inquiring if anything had been 
heard about the fugitive, 1 was" told, that although search 
had been made, and the most diligent inquiry instituted, no 
trace could be found of him, and no clue ‘to explain his ab- 
sence could be discovered. 

/ 

XXI. 

Ella Moncrieff — Thou wert indeed a bright and beauti- 
fiil creation ! Looking back, as I do now, over eight years 
of existence ; years, some of which seem to have been ages ; 
for duration of life is measured by events, and not by min- 
utes and hours, as some suppose — looking back, I say, over 
all these, I call thee still as I have '-written it, “bright and 
beautiful !” Thou hadst more of soul than to an ordinary 
observer would be apparent ; thou hadst somewhat less than 
should satisfy a deep, fond, manly heart. Yet that thou hadst 
less, proved perchance thy safety. 

I hardly know why I have paused to con over these hidden 
memories. It was a natural outburst, and I did not restrain it. 

XXII 

A FEW more weeks elapsed : my stay at Grlencoe could not 
be much further prolonged. After Vautrey’s disappearance, 


90 


SAINT LEGER. 


everything went on delightfully. The earl returned, and 
seemed greatly relieved both that Vautrey had taken his de- 
parture, and that Glenfinglas was convalescent. Ella and 
myself became more intimate ; for a few days, to be sure, she 
was quite distant, but I soon succeeded in restoring her to 
good humor. Now that the count was gone, and not likely 
to come back, I took the liberty of telling Ella my opinion of 
him with great frankness. 

“ Cousin William,” said Ella, when I had finished, “ I 
agree with you in all that you say. I believe you are among 
the few who know Count Vautrey, so far as he can be known. 
You were angry with me — nay do not deny it — because I 
seemed not to heed your warning ; but I told you (have you 
forgotten it, and how abruptly you ran away from me just as 
I was about to confess all?) yes, 1 told you, cousin, that you 
did not know me.” 

“And surely,” interrupted I, “ you have afforded me very 
little opportunity to improve the acquaintance during my stay 
at Glencoe !” ' . 

“Not so fast, Mr. William,” retorted my cousin; “suppose 
I should now make you acquainted, in one grand lesson, with 
more than you could have learned by constant intercourse 
for the past six weeks, would not that be making an honora- 
ble amend?” 

“Alas ! not quite,” I answered ; “ who can restore to me 
the loss of that same intercourse you speak of? Not Count 
Vautrey, of a certainty.” 

“A truce to farther jesting,” said Ella; “ let me try to be 
serious. Of late it has not been so difficult a task as formerly. 
You were kind, very kind, to speak to me as you did, and I 
was wayward, very wayward, to receive what you said so 
unhandsomely ; not that I doubted the goodness of your mo- 
tives ; not that I believed Count Vautrey to be a true man; 
no, no ; how can I express what I wish to say ? how can I 


SAINT LEGEE. 


91 


explain to you why I should, knowing him to be false and 
hollow-hearted, permit him to be so much in my society, and 
allow his assiduous attentions ? William Saint Leger, have 
you never read, in descriptions of the wonders of the East, 
of a serpent with glossy satin coat, strange lustrous eyes, with 
double tongue, curiously forked, that shot out ever and anon 
like lambent flame ; a serpent, cold and glassy, deceitful and 
treacherous, which, in very wantonness — caring not for 
food — seeks the place where the singing birds rear their 
young ; and first lying quiet and motionless, then gently rear- 
ing its head till its presence is perceived, then swaying from 
side to side its bright shining crest, as the poor bird flies round 
and round, in giddy circles, now uttering faint cries, now ap- 
parently attempting to dart off in another direction, but forced 
still round, and round, and round, nearer and nearer, to the 
fatal centre, until at last the poor creature falls fluttering into 
the very fangs of her tormentor? You have read of this?’^ 
exclaimed Ella, with nervous emotion; “how to the very 
life, how exact the similarity between this Vautrey and that 
same serpent ? I can compare him to nothing else. Do not 
interrupt me,” she added, as I was about to speak, “ till I 
have said all I was going to say, and then we will have done 
with the subject. You saw, I am sure, that I was not ingenu- 
ous with you ; you saw that, with an air of candor, I was not 
really candid. When Vautrey first came to Glencoe, he 
seemed to select me as an object of his attentions. From the 
very first — what word can I use ? not hate, nor dread, nor 
fear, nor loathing ; none of these ; but I felt, as it were, an 
instinctive, inner shuddering at his presence, as if he were 
some lost malignant spirit, going to and fro upon the earth to 
mock and sneer at poor humanity. And yet he was always 
so courteous, so polite and civil, so interesting, nay fascinating, 
when he strove to engage the attention, that it was impossible 
to resist his influence. But, while I labored under the charm, 


92 


SAINT LEGER. 


I was not deceived. Like the wretch who, oppressed with 
horrible visions in the night, has yet a dreamy consciousness 
that he does but dream, and that when he wakes, all will be 
well again ; so I, though I was charmed, yet still abhorred, 
and felt a consciousness that I should one day be freed from 
the baleful influence. Surely, surely, some evil spirit has 
possession of that man ; for it was not what he said to me, it 
was not his manner, it was not he himself that produced this 
fearful impression, for in his conversation there was nothing 
directly exceptionable ; his manner was always decorous, and 
so was his speech. It was the atmosphere of his presence 
that disturbed and poisoned all. Do you understand me, 
William continued the young girl. “ I know you under- 
stand me ; for you have read this man aright. I feel freer 
and happier now that I have told you this. Thank God ! he 
has left us ; and yet if he should return, it seems to me that 
I should again be charmed — again become a victim.” 

“ Fear it not, dear Ella!” said I, with earnestness ; “ you 
are safe. Believe me, I had little fear for you; yet I 
could not refrain from a word of caution ; and while I admit 
that Vautrey is still a mystery to me, I am sure that so far as 
I have spoken, I have not mistaken him. In this you cor- 
roborate me. Now I feel that we are indeed better ac- 
quainted.” 

“And now I feel,” said Ella, “ that you are beginning to 
know me.” 

How buoyant were my spirits when I left my cousin, after 
the foregoing interview! How did my young heart throb 
with renewed joy ! And wherefore ? W^hy did my pulse 
quicken ; why did my mind become animated by a thousand 
cheering thoughts, as I left her presence? We had only an 
explanation — nothing more. And although I have put down 
but little of what was said, still it went simply to the better 
understanding of each other. There is something in the 


SAINT LEGER. 


93 


lovely graces of early womanhood, that partakes of all that 
is desirable on this earth. I mean not the influence of a di- 
rect passion : to the lover I know that everything wears a 
charmed aspect. But I was no lover. Ella, in this way, 
cared not for me. Yet there was confidence between us ; 
two youthful souls, believing in each other. What were ages 
of plodding, calculating, dusty existence, compared with the 
golden moments, which I then enjoyed ! Just, too, before I 
expected to leave Glencoe, my real happiness was com- 
mencing. Is it not always so ? Just when blind Man im- 
agines that he has secured some certain lease of joy — the 
curse, alas, “not causeless” — cometh, and he is miserable. 
Would this be so, were God his Friend? 

XXIII. 

I HEARD frequently from England during my stay in the 
highlands; each succeeding letter was read with increased 
pleasure. I began to value the privileges and enjoyments of 
home, in consequence of my temporary absence from them. 
Everything about Bertold Castle was regarded with a new 
interest, and the slightest occurrence was charged with unusual 
importance. From my brother I did not hear directly, but 
the accounts of him received through my mother, awoke in 
my breast something like a spirit of emulation. I felt that I 
was little else than an idle dreamer ; but what could a youth 
of sixteen do ? This question I asked myself over and over 
again. Too young for action, certainly, and for that matter, 
not sufficiently educated for practical effort ; the preparation 
itself seemed but drivelling work. “Preparation for what ?” 
I would ask; and then Destiny, with her pale face, seemed to 
whisper : “ Thy labor shall come to naught !” 

Besides, I could not think of entering upon any of the cus- 
tomary pursuits of the world. Political life had no charms 


94 


SAINT LEGER. 


for me, for I dreaded to bring its unhallowed intrigues inlo 
collision with my moral sense. The law, as a profession, I 
abhorred, because I ^perceived that while it sharpened men’s 
minds to a wonderful acuteness, it narrowed their intellects, 
after a peculiar manner, until no universality remained. I 
was too conscientious to quarter myself on the church, so long 
asT could lay no claim to a religious character. A military 
life I detested more than all. Yet I was a younger son ; and 
although my fortune, in right of my mother, would ultimately 
be ample, and while I knew my father to be just toward his 
children, still I must resolve on some course. I always strug- 
gled against the doctrine of fatality. Early in life I took for 
my motto : — 

“ Sed mihi res, non me rebus submittere conor.” 

But I felt that without some direct purpose in view, circum- 
stances would control me instead of being controlled by me. 
Again I pondered over the business of humanity, inquiring 
what man was made for? Was it for political intrigue and 
chicanery — for intricate, acute but belittling special plead- 
ing — for dishonest peculation from the church — for war 
and bloodshed ? For none of these, assuredly. Then was 
he made for seclusion ; to sit and think and wonder and be 
still, or to labor and delve and toil like beasts of burthen ? 
And if either, cui hono ? One generation succeeds another, 
each teaching its successor the tricks and the devices current 
in the world, while everything is managed badly enough. 

Such were my reveries, as I anxiously stole away from ob- 
servation, and seated myself in my chamber, in view of the 
lofty peaks which frowned down upon the castle. The solemn 
presence of the bid hills, so still, so awful, in their repose, 
must have had no small influence upon my sensitive spirit. 
Yet while I felt a determined repugnance to enter upon any 
course which did not commend itself to my conscience, 1 was 


SAINT LEGER. 


95 


fast coming to the conclusion that there was no work for man 
upon earth suited to his true desires and his true capacities. 
Desiring to pursue a right course, I was insensibly losing all 
native benevolence of feeling, and giving way to a morbid 
spirit of fault-finding with the affairs of the world. This made 
me intellectually selfish, and cut me off from a happy com- 
munion with my fellows. 

I am now chronicling my feelings as they were when I was 
about to leave Glencoe. Bear with me patiently as I put 
down these apparently unimportant changes in my inner life. 
I trust that before I close I shall be able to furnish an in- 
structivedesson. And let me now say to those who may have 
followed me thus far, in hopes that my dry detail might lead 
ultimately into the flowery land of romantic fiction, that they 
are sure to be disappointed ; and unless they can find matter 
of interest in this very detail, having in view my ultimate ob- 
ject, we had better part company here, instead of voyaging 
on together, with • the certain prospect of disappointment in 
the end. 

XXIV. 

I HAD concluded my visit, and was busy packing my port- 
manteau for my return to England. Having emptied its 
contents, I was proceeding to assort them, when my eye 
lighted upon a small package, which till now had 'been over- 
looked. I took it up. It was the parcel handed me by Aunt 
Alice when I left Bertold Castle, and which had entirely 
escaped my recollection. Upon the outside my name was 
written, as follows : . ' 

“ William Henry, 

' ' Youngest Son Saint hegery 

I opened the package : I came to e ivelope after envelope, 


96 


SAINT LEGER. 


but discoveied nothing save blank paper. At length I found 
an enclosure, which read : 

“ My childi deliver these as directed'' 

I rapidly unrolled the parcel, till a small but massive ring 
of gold, curiously wrought, dropped out. I found that the 
cover which enclosed it was addressed ; 

“ To THE WCEDALLAH OF St. KiLDA, 

“ These !” 

This was the last enclosure, and was unsealed. I took the 
liberty of seeing its contents, for the exterior certainly gave 
no clue by which I could ascertain the object of the wi'iter, or 
the destination of the parcel with which I was intrusted. So 
I opened the last envelope and read these words : 

“ To dweller on the Ocean Rock 
Where the storm-sprite rages but barms he not 
The Wcedallah ! 

“ His heart is lone, his mind is free, 

Patient, he sits and waits his destiny; 

The Wcedallah !” 

On the other side I read : 

“ This too is a Saint Leger; receive him, 

But poison not his soul, for it may not be.” 

I Stood contemplating these singular and apparently inco- 
herent sentences in utter astonishment. Although I was 
ready to expect from Aunt Alice something strange and un- 
common, I could not fathom this to me inexplicable jargon. 
“ Aunt Alice is certainly crazed I exclaimed ; “ and yet 
there is something in these lines which puts my brain upon 
the whirl. St. Kilda — The Hebrides ! 1 have it ! Here 

have I been nearly three months in their very neighborhood, 


SAINT LEGER. 


97 


without giving them a thought ! England sees not me till I 
have seen those storm-isles of the ocean!” 

Without farther reflection, I ran down to the court-yard, 
where I had lefl Hubert shortly before, half angry because, 
as he said, I insisted on leaving Glencoe so soon. “ Ho I 
Hubert I” I shouted, what say you to the grand tour of the 
Hebrides ? I have made up my mind. I set off to-morrow 
morning. Go with me you must, and we shall want Christie 
for helmsman.” 

Hubert looked at me for an instant, as if he was not quite 
positive whether I was jesting or beside myself. He soon 
discovered that I was neither, and believing that a sudden 
enthusiasm possessed me for a wild and romantic excursion, 
he whirled himself round three times, clapped his hands, 
struck me heartily on the shoulder, and, when he could find 
breath, exclaimed : “ Glorious ! We are off on the instant ! 
Grand idea 1 capital thought I How did it come into your 
head? We will get ready at once. But my father?” said 
Hubert, stopping short ; “ I fear he will not consent to it.” 

I will answer that he will,” said I ; “ pray go and ask him 
directly.” 

In a few minutes he returned with a joyful countenance, 
saying that the earl, so far from making any objection to the 
proposed excursion, expressed his approbation of it, as evin- 
cing a love of hardy adventure, which he did not like to see 
altogether laid aside, in the happy change of the times from 
disturbed to peaceful. The freedom of Scotland had ofien 
depended, the earl remarked, upon her wild mountain fast- 
nesses and the rude islands which formed a part of her terri- 
tory. In his day, the youth boasted of their skill in navigating 
the perilous channels between these islands : he had himself 
twice narrowly escaped with his life, in passing the dangerous 
strait of Corryvrekan ; “ and doubtless thought it prbpbr,” 

7 


98 


SAINT LEGER. 


added Hubert, “ that his younger son should be exposed to a 
similar ordeal. But,’’ continued he, “ I am no novice at 
channel-sailing, to say nothing of my dexterity in a whirlpool ; 
for what with ftequent passages between Mull and Skye, with 
an occasional visit to Coll and Muck island, together with a 
pretty intimate acquaintance with the storms that are always 
howling about Islay and Jura, I count myself (Christie being 
present to aid and abet), something more than a mere fresh- 
water sailor.” 

What a bustle did we create during the day in our prepar- 
ations ! Old Christie was summoned to a confidential con- 
ference. I have already spoken of this veteran. In age he 
was nearly fifty, though his hardy frame, his aleit step, and 
the quick glance of his eye, told of one in the very prime of 
physical existence. His beard was, however, somewhat 
grizzled, the only revenge Time seemed to have taken upon 
him. In person he was tall, bony, and muscular, with not an 
ounce of superfluous flesh to encumber him. He was a sort 
of major-domo at the castle, in consequence of his long ex- 
perience, well-tried fidelity, and great good nature. He was 
born at Glencoe, and was, if I mistake not, foster-brother of 
the earl. He had always been near his person, had accom- 
panied him abroad, and had served him in cases of extremity. 
As the young men grew up, Christie seemed to renew his 
youth, and entered into all their sports with as genuine a zest 
as if he was of their own age ; they, by the way, always de- 
ferring to him, in matters of practical expediency. In this 
way Christie would often make excursions with them to the 
neighboring islands to hunt, fish, or explore, “ it being very 
necessary,” as he would remark, “ that the education of the 
puir lads suldna be quite negleckit ; for wha could tell what 
mightna just happen ony time yeti” The earl, it would 
seem, tacitly approved of Christie’s reasoning; he certainly 


SAINT LEGER. 


99 


made no objection to it ; so that the young men were initiated 
into all the hardy exercises of their race. 

The summons for Christie was shortly followed by the ap- 
pearance of the old fellow himself, who had no sooner en- 
tered the room than he was seized by Hubert, who, after 
ineffectually endeavoring to give him a whirl round (a famili- 
iarty exercised toward no other servant), shouted merrily : 
“ Rouse yourself, my old lad ! Did you know that you are 
getting so rusty that the earl has ordered you banished from 
Glencoe, and I am commissioned to see the order put into 
execution 1 You have till day-break to-morrow morning to 
make ready. So lose no time ; off we must go, I am to be 
along, for fear you will be stealing back before your time 
is up !” 

During this edifying discourse, the old man stood regard- 
ing the youth very much as an old, sagacious, and well-trained 
mastiff watches the pranks of a favorite young dog who is 
cutting gambols around him, and although well pleased with 
the capers, is hardly willing that his own dignity should be 
entrenched upon by them. YiThen Hubert therefore paused 
for breath, Christie very coolly turned up his gray eyes, ex- 
claiming : 

“What’s in the wind iiooT’ “Pshaw, Christie! don’t 
affect so much indifference, when you know you are crazy 
for a scamper of some kind and thereupon Hubert pro- 
ceeded to give the detail of the proposed excursion, which 
comprised a visit to some of the a(^acent islands, and aftei- 
ward a bold stretch out as far as St. Kilda, the most remote 
of the Hebrides. “ And now, Christie, you know all about 
it; keep our plans secret. W^e have the earls permission, 
remember ; we shall leave everything to you. We can ex- 
pect nothing fit to eat after leaving Skye, so see that you lay 
in a good stock of small stores, and 


100 


SAINT LEGER. 


But, master Hubert,” interrupted Christie. I dinna ken 
an’ I can be spared just noo at the castle, and ye ken weel I 
am getting just ower auld for the like o’ this. I wadna mind 
to ferry ye over to Skye, but when ye talk about St. Kilda, 
it is quite anither thing, ye suld mind ; for I wadna care to 
catch a blast o’ the hurricane outside o’ Lewis.” 

Christie’s countenance, during this harangue, would have 
been a model for a painter. From the first, I perceived that 
he was only practising upon Hubert in return for his speech; 
and to see the old fellow’s endeavor to assume an expression 
which was so unnatural, was ludicrous enough. Hubert, on 
the contrary, at first mistook it, and was about to express his 
impatience and astonishment at such an extraordinary dis- 
closure, when a humorous twinkle of Christie’s eye explained 
matters in an instant, and Hubert was himself again. “ Ah, 
Christie,” said he, “ you are the true metal, after all, but — ” 
Christie here cut off all further superfluous discourse by in- 
sisting that we should proceed to business. First, a plan 
must be drawn up, to be followed explicitly ; then a consul- 
tation about the craft we should go in, and who to select 
for the crew. The first was soon settled ; about the second 
there was more difficulty. Donald MacCae’s fishing smack 
(belonging to the earl) was not quite the thing, in Christie’s 
opinion ; “ she was ower wet in a gale of wind,” though that 
was not to be minded, but she was withal a lubberly sailer. 
The earl’s new yacht would do for a trip to Mull in fair 
weather, and poorly enough at that ; (it had been ordered 
without taking Christie’s opinion on the subject). Finally, 
Donald Lairg’s craft; was selected as best qualified to perform 
all the offices required ; but Christie feared that Donald was 
not yet home from the herring cruise ; he would send down 
to the loch and see. 

After long hesitation, an i after discussing with himself the 


SAINT LEGER. 


101 


merits of the various retainers about the castle, for the pur- 
poses of our enterprise, Christie finally made choice of two 
brothers, Hugh and Aleck MacDonald, as most competent to 
do duty in it. These two he insisted would be quite suffi- 
cient, and more would only be in the way. We ascertained 
that Donald Lairg had fortunately returned ; whereupon 
Christie took leave, to see that the craft was well provided, 
and her ballast properly stowed. Next, fowling-pieces, pis- 
tols, bows-and-arrows, and fishing-gear of every description, 
were put in order, and an abundant supply of everything that 
was deemed needful, made ready. We kept the house quite 
in an uproai*. Both Margaret and Ella entered most actively 
into our preparations, and did much to aid them. Frank was 
not at the castle ; he was spending a few days with Glenfin- 
glas, who had quite recovered from the effects of his late 
wound. 

XXV. 

The morning was fair. I was first up. For it was scarce- 
ly daybreak when I threw open the window looking toward 
the mountain, and let the cool air breathe through the room. 
A heavy fog covered the summit, which was now slowly dis- 
persing before the light just dawning in the east. Presently 
I heard the noise of some one in the court-yard ; and going 
down, I saw Christie busy in getting together what we were 
to take on our voyage. He was alone, and I watched 
him a few moments unperceived. He was whistling a stirring 
highland air, while he worked away with all the glee of a 
lad of fourteen, who had broken from school. “A plague on 
the lazy loons!” muttered he, after awhile; “I’ll just gie 
them another call.” So saying, he ran past where I was 
standing, almost overturning me in his hurry, and I soon 
heard him shouting : “Hugh! Aleck — Aleck! Hugh!” ac- 


102 


SAINT LEGER. 


comp anied with various expletives which should have aroused 
the Seven Sleepers themselves, had they been so forcibly ad- 
dressed. Hubert soon made his appearance, and everything 
was got ready. We sat down to an early breakfast, where 
we met the young ladies only, and having received their kind- 
est wishes for a pleasant excursion, we left the castle. 

Proceeding to the loch, at no gi'eat distance, we found the 
men ready to get under way. We had a pleasant breeze 
from the north, and sailed rapidly down the frith, till we 
made the coast of Mull ; then changing our course, we stood 
to the northward and westward, intending to land at Skye. 
This was my first experience at sea, and everything was new 
and strange to me ; but the effect was salutary ; a world 
seemed opening before me, of a new but not unwelcome 
creation. Shut out from the pleasures, the enjoyments, the 
occupations of earth, the mind undergoes a distinct change. 
It discovers that its former classes of ideas were not abso- 
lutely essential, for new images crowd upon it, new thoughts 
take possession of it, while new feelings characterize the 
heart. I felt that I was still in a transition state. But for 
the first time, almost in my whole life, I felt my soul enlarge. 

My curiosity was also active. I had not betrayed my se- 
cret to Hubert ; for some reason I felt disinclined to do it. 
So impatient was I to reach St. Kilda, that I would willingly 
have foregone a visit to the intermediate islands, but I did not 
care to urge this ; so I could only revolve in my mind the cu- 
rious incident of the package intrusted to me by Aunt Alice, 
and the more curious character of its contents. Something I 
was sure awaited me in that island. The impression was too 
strong to be shaken off. So I nursed it the more carefully. 

“ Woedallah ! Woedallah ! Hubert,” said I, rousing my- 
self from the revery, “what is the meaning of Woedallah]” 

“Woedallah] lam sure 1 can not tell. I never heard 


SAINT LEGER. 


103 


the word before. Pray where did you pick it up, and what 
possesses you to be mumbling it over now answered my 
cousin. “Up with the helm, Christie, and let us speak that 
fisherman. I will wager, that we overhaul him in half an 
hour. Now we have her in a line — keep her so. Come, 
Saint Leger, no more moping. Wait till we reach St. 
Kilda, and then ask the old Norsewoman, if she is still alive, 
about that unintelligible word. She can tell you, I doubt not. 

“ I hope so,” replied I, musingly. 

XXVI. 

Our voyage was full of those incidents which youth most 
love ; exciting incidents, quickly succeeding each other, of 
novel character, quite out of the common course : healthful, 
heart-stirring incidents ; serving to break up old associations, 
causing the mind to form new estimates of everything ; in 
short, effecting such an essential change in all the feelings, 
that it seemed an entire change of being. The strange ap- 
pearance of things in the different islands at which we touch- 
ed; the singular manners and customs of the inhabitants; 
their isolated position with respect to all the world, and our 
own isolated position with respect to them, gave additional 
interest to our voyage. Then came the storm and the hurri- 
cane (for it rarely only stormed there), around those bleak, 
wild, surf-beaten landmarks, where tempests prevail con- 
tinually. 

But as I am not writing a book of travels, or a geographi- 
cal history, or a tonr of any sort, I shall not depart from the 
plan I have adopted, although I might devote many pages to 
a description of all that we saw and heard in the Hebrides. 
Possessing in my eyes, as I have before mentioned, so much 
of interest, it is with the more difficulty that I repress the de- 
sire to copy from my journal a full account of this excursion. 


104 


SAINT LEGER. 


But I will repress it ; for if I allow myself to deviate from my 
course at this stage of the narrative, I shall find more abundant 
excuse for a like deviation at every succeeding stage. 

After a short stay at Skye, we steered for the range of 
coast called the Long Island, and touched at Harris, in order 
to see the “steward,” a name given to the proprietor of St. 
Kilda, or rather to the lessee of the proprietor, who is always 
his near relative. Mr. Alexander MacLeod was at that time 
the steward. We found in him a strange mixture of many 
excellent qualities with many whimsical peculiarities. He 
was a highland gentleman, naturally of agreeable manners, 
exceedingly polite and honest-hearted ; but from being almost 
always surrounded by inferiors, he had become somewhat 
arbitrary, somewhat impatient, and not a little conceited. His 
pride of birth was excessive, and equalled only by his pride 
of territory, which consisted of a bleak unfruitful island, some 
five or six miles in circumference, and several large rocks 
contiguous thereto. This feeling of territorial aggrandize- 
ment had made Mr. Alexander MacLeod an antiquary ; he 
gave abundant proof of this whenever he could find a listen- 
er. Shut out from the world, excepting always an annual 
visit to his cousin the “ proprietor” at Edinburgh, it was lit- 
tle wonder that he had acquired habits unavoidable to his 
manner of life ; but these could not abridge a particle of his 
overflowing hospitality. Coming as we did from the house- 
hold of the Earl of Venachoir, to whom the “steward” was 
well-known, there was an additional incentive on his part to 
receive us with a cordial welcome. WTien, however, we told 
him that the object of our present voyage included a visit to 
St. Kilda, Mr. Alexander MacLeod look serious ; then he 
shook his head ; but at last he smiled, and after that he 
spoke : — 

“Are you resolved on this, young gentlemen ? — for if ye 
are, it will be useless to attempt to discourage you by telling 


SAINT LEQER. 


105 


the dangers of such a trip at this season. It will he only ad- 
ding fuel to the flame, for I know the stuff* such lads are made 
of. J ust one look at ye tells the story. But I am sorry you 
had not come six weeks earlier, so that we could have taken 
you in the large boat. I make but one visit to the island dur- 
ing the year, and that is in the summer : indeed, we consider 
St. Kilda inaccessible at any other season. You are, I trust, 
still in time, but the September hurricanes are brewing; and 
believe me,” he added, seriously, ‘< no craft fashioned by 
man can encounter them and live.” 

Seeing that we were determined, the steward did not at- 
tempt further to discourage us ; but insisted that as the weather 
was unpropitious, we should become his guests for two or 
three days, when the moon would change, and in all proba- 
bility we should have a more favorable time to put to sea. 
We accepted the kind invitation, and took up our quarters at 
Mr. Alexander MacLeod’s house. We spent the time prin- 
cipally in listening to the account given by that gentleman of 
the islands adjacent, and the character of their various inhab- 
itants. The steward’s conversation, although savoring of the 
peculiarities of his character, was in the main exceedingly 
interesting. I must except, however, his long and wearisome 
genealogical disquisitions, and his never-ending discussions 
(with himself) about the original peopling of the islands; 
although the steward sometimes, fearing he was carrying his 
assumption of royalty a little too far, would be pleased to 
say, with a sort of affected candor, that, “ to be sure his king- 
dom of St. Kilda and its dependencies afforded him but a 
barren sceptre, still the inhabitants looked to him for protec- 
tion, and he was bound to afford it, even as his fathers had 
done for centuries.” I did not exactly understand the nature 
of the protection alluded to by the steward, who never, as I 
could learn, visited his dominions except to collect his rents. 
Still I did not venture to ask an explanation, but chose rather 


106 


SAINT LEGER. 


to lead him on to topics about which I had more curiosity to 
hear. To my inquiries about St. Kilda, or as the steward 
usually called it, Hirta, his replies were full and sensible. 

“ You will find,” he observed, “ that island to be one of 
the greatest curiosities in the known world ; ay, or in the un- 
known. Its situation, the situation of its inhabitants, and their 
peculiar customs, should make it an object of attention to 
civilized man. Notwithstanding,” continued Mr. Alexander 
MacLeod, waxing warm, “ I do not believe there is one per- 
son in a thousand in Great Britain who knows of its exist- 
ence. Two hundred years have our family been in possession 
of Hirta ; and those two centuries, which have marked their 
history so impressively upon all the world besides, have left 
untouched the rocks and islands of the Deucaledonian.” 

Perceiving that the steward’s heart was in the matter, I 
ventured one question after another, hoping at last to get a 
satisfactory solution of the mysterious inscription upon the 
package with which I was intrusted. “ Of late years,” con- 
tinued the steward, “ ‘ The Society for Propagating Christian 
Knowledge” had with his consent and assistance annually 
sent a missionary to Hirta, for the purpose of giving the 
people general instruction, and especially to afford them the 
privilege of listening from week to week to the living preach- 
er. The present missionary, Mr. David Cantyre, was now 
on the island, a good and zealous man, laboring with 
great earnestness, and as he believed, with excellent success. 
The entire population of the island was only about ninety ! 
— a little community of honest, simple-hearted creatures, ob- 
taining a bare subsistence by the most hazardous exposure ; 
encouiktering danger with a fearless intrepidity ; exhibiting 
in their fortitude, their perseverance, and their contempt of 
danger, all that is manly and heroic in character.” After the 
steward had exhausted the topic upon which he was descant- 


SAINT LEGER. 


107 


ing with so much enthusiasm, I ventured to inquire if there 
was any local government in the island. 

“ Certainly not,” said Mr. Alexander MacLeod, slightly 
drawing himself up, “ I have delegated no authority to any 
one. The islanders form one community ; they have one re- 
ligion ; are devout, observe the sabbath, live harmoniously 
together, have very few wants, and such only as they are 
themselves capable of supplying.” 

I gained nothing by this last response ; but I was deter- 
mined to persevere ; so, after speaking on various topics, I 
gradually reached the subject of ancient names and titles ; 
putting myself, by way of encouragement, in the attitude of 
an attentive listener. But I had not calculated upon so des- 
perate an attack upon my patience. I was compelled to un- 
,dergo an infliction which lasted, it seemed to me, the best 
part of the day ; in which the antiquities of the island were 
descanted upon with the temper of a man who had his heart 
in the work. I did not attempt to follow the thread of the 
steward’s discourse ; my ears were only open to catch a word 
which might throw some light upon the before-mentioned in- 
scription. Going back to the time of Julius Caesar, Mr. Mac- 
Leod proceeded to give an account of the antiquities of Hirta, 
and in so doing made plentiful quotations from Virgil, Sueto- 
nius, Tacitus, and other ancient authors; while, as he ad- 
vanced, he dived into the historical records of the Volscae, 
Cymbri, Sacae, Allemanni, Picti, Scotti, Brigantes, Paeones, 
Cyclopes, and Bagandae, until my head ached. I bore the in- 
fliction, however, with exemplary patience, until at last, I 
seized upon the opportunity to ask a direct question, as the 
steward paused in the middle of a disquisition about the word 
“ Bholg,” which was, he said, by generally received opinion 
considered pure Hibernian, but which he insisted was derived 
from the Russian “ Wolga,” the name of a river, and which car- 
ried him at once back to the ancient RTitulians, when, as I have 


108 


SAINT LEGER, 


remarked, Mr. Alexander MacLeod paused; whether for the 
purpose of taking breath, or because he was getting involved 
in the mazes of his own discussion, I do not presume to say. 
Wishing to gain something to repay me for listening so long, 
I asked my host abruptly, “ Pray, Mr. MacLeod, can you tell 
me the meaning of “ Woedallah'?” 

“Woedallah!” said the steward, peevishly, looking at the 
same time not a little disconcerted ; “ Woedallah ! It is a 
word never used as a compound. * Weed’ is simple enough ; 

* allah’ is well understood ; but they are never put together. 
Unless you use it as a corruption of the good old Norwegian, 

* Udaller,’ signifying the original chief or possessor of the 
soil.” 

“ Then you never have heard the word before V* said 1, in- 
quiringly. 

“ It is not used as a compound, my young gentleman,” re- 
torted the steward, quickly, and without answering my ques- 
tion ; “ but I have puzzled your brain enough for once, I see 
plainly. And now,” continued he, looking at me significantly, 
“ pray let me ask, since you are so determined on a visit to 
Hirta, what it is that takes you there ]” 

“ Curiosity,” replied I, slightly piqued by the manner 
the questioner ; “ curiosity, now still more active to witness 
the wonders you have described to me.” Mr. Alexander 
MacLeod slowly placed the fore-finger of his right hand up- 
on the side of his nose, giving the latter member a slight de- 
flection to the left, nodded knowingly, as much as to say “ I 
understand it; never mind an explanation;” then took his 
finger down and remained silent. It was now my turn to 
ask a solution of such conduct, which in this connection ex- 
cited my interest to the highest pitch ; but just then the stew- 
ard was summoned to attend to something requiring his im? 
mediate presence, and much to my disappointment, pur epur 


SAINT LEGER- 


109 


versation was not again resumed. I felt satisfied, however, 
from what had passed, that the steward knew more about the 
mysterious word than he was willing to admit. But I had no 
opportunity for explanation, for the next day we took leave 
of our hospitable host, who gave us a letter to the minister, 
Mr. David Can tyre, commending us to his especial care. As 
we were departing, Mr. MacLeod came close up to me, and 
taking my hand, whispered : “ Have a canny care of yourself, 
my young friend ; you will not find the coast so clear as you 
imagine perhaps; take care — talie care V' And not wait- 
ing for an answer, the steward, with a hearty “ God bless 
you !” turned hastily away. 


XXVII. 

We now set sail, and after touching at North Uist, stood 
out for the stormy Hirta. 

During the voyage we had constant occasion to admire the 
promptitude, the coolness, the ready wit and able seamanship 
of old Christie. I could not but reflect how little we can 
judge of an individual, until he is placed in a position to 
call forth his real powers. It occurred to me more than once, 
during moments of peril, when our lives depended upon the 
self-possession and presence of mind of one person, how lit- 
tle the wisdom of the statesman, the devices of the political 
intriguer, the subtlety of the lawyer, or the craft of the 
scholar, could avail to save life and limb, as we were situated, 
with the sea lashed into fury, and the winds howling around 
us. How rapidly men’s relations to each other change under 
circumstances of danger. I learned many lessons of practi- 
cal utility, which I shall never forget, from old Christie in 
that voyage. 

At length the wished-for point was made. We had expe- 


110 


SAINT LEGER. 


rienced a terrible “ blow” which had shortly subsided, and 
about three o’clock in the afternoon the sun came out ; when 
suddenly Hubert exclaimed, “ liand ho! Huzza! huzza! 
huzza ! See, see. Saint Leger ! There is old Hirta herself.” 

I looked in the direction indicated by Hubert, when I be- 
held what appeared to be the point of a high rock, rising ab- 
ruptly from the ocean. 

“Why don’t you look, Christie!” continued Hubert; 
“ there is St. Kilda. She bears by compass just as our friend 
MacLeod told us ‘ northwest by west half-north.’ Don’t be 
in ill-humor because you did not see it first. Look ! look !” 

A smothered exclamation of contempt, escaped from Chris- 
tie, at the mention of the name of Mr. Alexander MacLeod : 
but he simply replied : “ Not quite so fast. Master Hubert : 
I see nothing of St. Kilda, though I do see, and have seen for 
half an hour, the great rock of Boreray. We have two 
leagues of southing from there, at any rate, compass or no 
compass; and after that, we must double Livinish (another 
large rock) before we make St. Kilda.” 

Christie was right, as usual ; but the gale had abated and 
the wind was happily in our favor. We rapidly passed both 
of these stupendous land-marks, when St. Kilda itself actu- 
ally came in view. I can not describe my emotions on be- 
holding the towering cliffs of this storm-beaten isle. My 
ideas were indistinct ; my thoughts were confused ; so I tried 
not to think at all, but turned my attention to the localities of 
the spot which were becoming more and more visible. We 
passed near an immense battlement of fearful rocks, and laid 
our course to the landing-place, which was no more nor less 
than a solid rock sloping down into the sea, and called by the 
natives “ The Saddle.” We were espied by the inhabitants 
long before we were ready to land. A large party of men, 
women, and children, had assembled to receive us, the arrival 


SAINT LEGER. 


Ill 


of a boat” being a remarkable event. Among the number 
viras the v^orthy missionary, Mr. David Cantyre, M^ho hastened 
down, on learning that a strange boat was approaching, in or- 
der to render all necessary assistance. By the exertions of 
the men on shore, we effected a landing, though with consid- 
erable difficulty, not unattended by danger, as the sea still ran 
high, and the “ saddle” was covered with a species of Lichen 
Marinus, called in Scotland, slawk, which was so slippery 
that it was almost impossible to take a step upon it without 
falling. 

Our arrival was a matter of considerable surprise to the 
natives, when they perceived that we had not put in in dis- 
tress, or come upon any business of the steward. The 
first thought which struck me, on observing these people, was, 
that they were warm-hearted and hospitable. The habitation 
of each was freely offered to us so long as we chose to stay ; 
and we should have been puzzled where to have made choice, 
had it not been for the missionary, whom we soon discovered, 
and to whom we presented the letter of Mr. Alexander Mac- 
Leod, which served at once to procure for us the warmest re- 
ception. Proceeding a short distance from where we landed, 
we came to what might be termed “ the village,” where all 
the inhabitants of the island dwelt. It consisted of a double 
row of square stone huts, not over nine feet in height, with 
flat roofs, and which certainly gave no very striking indica- 
tions of good cheer within. 

Hubert cast a rueful glance at the prospect before us, for 
it was near night-fall, and we were much fatigued and 
needed repose ; but the good missionary, guessing what was 
passing in his mind, remarked : “We have few inducements 
here to tempt visiters ; but I have an abundance of room in 
yon habitation to accommodate you all, and plenty of homely 
fare to stay your appetites, if you will consent to become my 
guests. 


112 


SAINT LEGER. 


The invitation was thankfully accepted for ourselves ; but 
Christie, with his usual tact and good sense, said that he had 
already made arrangements, for himself and his two follow- 
ers, with a Harris man, with whom he had once sailed on a 
herring cruise, and who had taken up his abode at St. Kilda. 
Leaving Christie, therefore, to take care of himself and his 
men, we followed the minister to his residence. Passing 
through the first apartment, which was unfurnished, we came 
to the next and only habitable room in the dwelling. Here, 
it seemed, we were to eat, drink, and sleep ; although I could 
discover no accommodations for performing the last-named 
function, unless upon bare floors. A smoking supper soon 
put the apprehension to flight, by appealing to my present 
wants. It consisted of a roasted solan-goose, stuffed with 
gibain ; eggs, cooked and raw, in several varieties, but all of 
wild fowl ; tulmers, fried in their own oil, and hot cakes of oat- 
meal. Our sharp appetites were a sufficient incentive, and 
we did ample justice to the minister’s board. 

Drowsiness succeeded the repast; whereupon our host 
threw down a little door in one side of the apartment, and 
discovered to us a wide bed, inserted as it were in the very 
heart of the wall. This was so much better than I had anti- 
cipated, that I did not stop to scrutinize ; but telling Hubert 
to follow me, I crept through the narrow door-way, and 
throwing myself upon what proved a delightful down-bed, 
was soon in a sound slumber. 


XXVIII. 

I AWOKE early in the morning, notwithstanding the fatigue 
of the previous day. I lay for some time in a dreamy rev- 
ery, revolving every incident which had occurred to me since 
I entered the highlands. Then my thoughts strayed back to 


SAINT LEGER. 


113 


Wai^wickshire, to my home in “merrie England;^’ and a 
chill came over my spirits w^hen I thought how far I had wan- 
dered, and where I was. I asked myself what had brought 
me hither ; a youth little acquainted with the world, making 
a tour of pleasure to this wild and almost inaccessible region ; 
how strange the conceit — how singular the motive ! And 
then that same pale-faced Destiny which so often haunted 
me, whispered that something should come to pass in this 
island which would tell upon my future : what it was, I dared 
not surmise. Was I then at the wished-for spotl Was the 
hour so soon at hand % My mind rallied under these exciting 
thoughts, and not caring for longer repose, I rose, leaving 
Hubert still sleeping, repeating as I arranged my dress the 
words of Prospero ; 

“ Now does my project gather to a head : 

My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 

Goes upright with his carriage. How’s the day ?” 

As I had no “dainty Ariel” to answer the question, I step- 
ped boldly out to see for myself. The morning had just 
dawned, and the rays of light emerging from the east were 
fast extending over the horizon. None of the inhabitants of 
the village were as yet visible ; so I stood upon the lofty 
Hirta solitary and alone ! I walked at first toward the sea, 
keeping to the southward of where we had landed. Here I 
had a good view of the whole northeastem part of St. Kilda. 
How gi-and, how terribly impressive, was the scene ! On all 
sides, so far as my view extended, the island was girt about 
with an immense perpendicular breastwork of solid rock, to 
look down whose toppling height the head swam, and the 
brain gi'ew dizzy. Defying storm and wind and ocean, ages 
upon ages it had remained a representative of earth ; an out- 
er sentinel, successfully resisting the enemy ; casting back 
triumphantly the waves which sought to overwhelni it, and do 
8 


114 


SAINT LEGER. 


fying the utmost fury of the tempest. During every change 
of season, by day and by night, while its inhabitants slumbered, 
and while they were awake, the towering cliffs of Hirta stood 
unshaken and immoveable. 

After surveying for a time this impressive scene, I turned 
back to the village. My first impulse was to call Hubert, 
and propose to him an immediate exploration of the whole 
island ; on second thoughts I determined to go by myself. I 
had got from the steward a general idea of the different local- 
ities, and as the island was but some three miles long, and 
only two broad, I had little fear of losing myself* Ascertain- 
ing, therefore, as near as I could, the points of compass, I 
took a course nearly west, as the prospect was more inviting 
in that direction, and appeared less obstructed by hills, which 
in some parts of St. Kilda rise to an immense height. 

Proceeding about a mile, I encountered one of these eleva- 
tions, whi(^n by dint of extra exertion I soon passed, and de- 
scending frcm the other side into a most delightful valley, 
found myself within half a mile of the ocean. I followed a 
small, winding rivulet which flowed through tlie valley until 
it emptied itself into the sea. Here the soil was exuber- 
ant; the ground was covered with an almost infinite va- 
riety of the richest plants, including the white and red clover 
the daisy, crowfoot, and dandelion, and plantains of every sort. 

I was surprised to find a spot of so much beauty where I had 
expected to see only wild and uncultivated hills, or bleak 
rocks and waste ground. I stood near the edge of the shore ; 
for where the stream fell into the sea there was some appear- 
ance of a landing-place ; indeed the steward had told me that 
on the northwest part of the island there was a spot where 
the inhabitants, when forced to so dangerous an experiment, 
made shift to put in, and I believed from his description that 
this was the place. So much, however, was I enchanted by 


SAINT LEGER. 


115 


the exquisite beauty of the little valley through which I had 
strayed, that I turned away from the bold and magnificent 
view of rock and ocean to gaze upon it ; and so abstracted 
did I become in the contemplation, that I did not notice a 
boat which had in the meantime approached the shore, and 
was attempting to land. Not wishing to be seen by those on 
board, I stepped aside and took a position where I could 
have a fair view of them, without being observed. There 
were but three persons in the boat, two of whom managed 
the craft, while the third steered. From the distance at which 
I stood, they^did not appear to be inhabitants of St. Kilda, 
and apparently they were not fishermen. 

As the boat approached the shore, it was hid from sight by 
some rocks which were brought between me and it. I still 
kept my position, and awaited the issue of what now looked 
likely to turn out an adventure. After several minutes I per- 
ceived two of the party clambering up a steep ledge, some 
distance below me ; and on reaching the top, proceed in an 
opposite direction from where I was standing, and conse- 
quently not in a way to gain the village. My curiosity was 
arotised ; so I followed slowly after, carefully keeping out 
of sight, yet endeavoring not to lose track of my men. I 
went on in this way for some five minutes, when they disap- 
peared behind the cleft of a huge rock, and I saw them no 
more. I walked cautiously forward till I passed the rock in 
question, but found no one ; I still persevered, but without 
making any discovery, and was on the point of giving up the 
search, when I noticed a small grotto, partially in ruins, the 
walls and part of the roof of which were still standing, so as 
to afford sufficient protection from stonu and bad weather. 
Through an aperture on the side toward me, I beheld the 
figures of two or more persons, but could not decide whether 
they were those I had previously seen. I stole cautiously up 


116 


SAINT LEGBR. 


till I reached the grotto, and looked in. I saw two persons ; 
the one whose face was toward me was a beautifiil girl, ap- 
parently about nineteen ; she was engaged in earnest conver- 
sation with a man, whose countenance was turned from me. 
The girl was considerably above the medium height ; she 
wore a Spanish mantilla, richly ornamented, which was 
thrown entirely back, displaying a face of great beauty ; deep^ 
dark, passionate eyes ; regular features, and a mouth the most 
expressive I ever saw. Her hair, which was black, and parted 
plain across her forehead, was exquisitely braided and secured 
behind by a ring and arrow of gold. The man-i— but I need 
not describe him, for as he turned partially round I saw his 
side-face, and perceived that it was — Vautrey ! 

I stood petrified with astonishment. I could not believe 
the evidence of my own senses. I began to think I was 
dreaming, and that I might presently awake and find myself 
upon the bed in the minister’s dwelling. But no ; this was 
no illusion. I could not mistake ; the scene before me was 
real ; and at the risk of being discovered, I leaned forward to 
get a better view of the parties ; as I did so, these words met 
my ear : 

“ Remember, count, this is the last time.” 

“Unless, signora, you can be persuaded to change your 
mind,” was the reply of Vautrey, in a tone so soft and so in- 
sinuating that I scarcely recognised it. 

“Never, so help me Heaven !” exclaimed the girl, impetu- 
ously; “I can not, do not, will not love you; and you shall 
no longer persecute me. What if my father knew of these 
meetings ? What if he knew that you had come hither after 
what he has so fearfully sworn V* 

“What if he did I” interrupted Vautrey, in his natural, 
sneering tone; “what if he did? Is the Wcedallah my 
keeper ?” 

“Enough,” returned the girl, with dignity; “enough: 


SAINT LEGER. 


117 


such a tone and such an answer best become you. We part,” 
she added, as she turned to leave the grotto, “ never to meet 
again in this way.” 

“Not thus, not thus,” replied Vautrey, in a gentle tone; 
“you must not, you can not leave me thus. Remember what 
we have been to each other. Have you forgotten the season 
spent in Genoa? Do you never think of Naples?” 

“Never without a shudder, Vautrey,” replied the girl, for 
the first time calling the count byname; “and it is despicable 
in you how to allude to the past. Away ! I despise you.” 

A bitter exclamation escaped the count. He raised his 
finger in a menacing attitude: “Leila,” said he, “though a 
woman, you may provoke my vengeance. Beware !” 

“A woman derides your vengeance, count, even while you 
threaten it,” said the maiden, scornfully ; so saying, she turn- 
ed again to depart. I stepped hastily back in order to escape 
observation ; as I did so, I met a pair of wild, sharp-looking, 
piercing black eyes glaring intently upon me from behind a 
thick clump of low bushes, with a gaze so fixed, that it seemed 
to belong to some spirit of darkness. As may be supposed, 
at the first sight of this unlooked-for apparition, my blood ran 
cold ; but I was not daunted, although surprised and shocked. 
It was evident that I had been' noticed ; yet I endeavored 
to be cool. Keeping my eye, therefore, boldly on this 
strange being, I slowly made good my retreat. The savage, 
as I took him to be, moved not, stirred not, till I was about 
disappearing, when he made a significant gesture toward the 
grotto, nodded his head, and waved his hand impatiently, as 
if to hasten me away. I did not need such a hint, but ma- 
king what speed I could, I turned back the way I came, nor 
did I slacken my pace until I was in sight of the village. 

At the door of the minister’s dwelling I met Hubert, who 
exclaimed, “ Thank God, Saint Leger, you are safe. Pray 
tell me where you have been, and what has happened to you. 


118 


SAINT LEGER. 


I missed you when I first woke ; we have inquired at every 
house, or rather hovel ; have searched at the landing-place, 
and everywhere else, and I had begun to be seriously alarmed. 
This was unfair to steal away from me, and take the first sur- 
vey alone. But, tell me ; something has happened, I know. 
What have you seen 1 Come, out with it.” 

“I have seen Vau trey,” said I; and thereupon I related 
to Hubert minutely all that I had witnessed that morning, al- 
though I was first tempted to keep the matter to myself ; but 
I thought it was not treating my cousin with the ingenuousness 
he deserved. Hubert looked very serious for a moment ; then 
his boyish love of adventure got the better of every other 
feeling, and he clapped his hands with delight : 

“Now for something that is worth the chase,” cried he; 
“now, Count Vautrey, have a care. We are no longer at 
Glencoe. Three in the boat ? we will match them : Christie 
is a host, of himself, and the two MacDonalds are no cow- 
ards. Yes, I was right; Vautrey is — yes, he is — the devil! 
No embodiment, but very Satan 1 Come, Saint Leger, here 
is a compact for you : the girl is yours, by right of discovery ; 
besides, you have got a clue to that ever-to-be-remembered 
Woedallah, which strengthens your title. But Vautrey, mark 
me, is mine, and you are not to interfere with me there.” 

“You meditate no violence, Hubert 1” I replied, alarmed 
by his emphatic tone. 

“I am a Moncrieff;” replied my cousin, proudly. 

“ Enough ;” was my response ; “ there shall be, as there ever 
has been, confidence between us.” 

“ We have said it,” cried Hubert, “ and now let us break 
our fast, for I have waited for you, and am hungry enough 
to devour a solan-goose alive. First, let us satisfy our hun- 
ger, and then, come Vautrey, Woedallah, Circe, Syren, Cali- 
ban, and the foul fiend !” 


SAINT LEGER. 


119 


XXIX. 

I MUST go back a little, to resume the history of my inner 
life. Bear with me, though you may have become more or 
less interested in the incidents of the last few chapters. 
Recollect our compact when, declining to part company with 
me, as I advised you many pages back, you ran the risk of 
suffering the penalty of a dull companionship, if you should 
not be able to sympathize in my feelings. Once more I give 
you an opportunity to bid “Adieu!” — once more I say; 
expect nothing but facts. 

When Glenfinglas was struck down by Vautrey, my whole 
moral nature was strongly affected. Fearfully impressed by 
the' malignant passions manifested by the latter, my soul in- 
stinctively sought refuge in God its creator. Like an inex- 
perienced child which has strayed for the first time out of 
sight of the parent, enjoying from the novelty, everything 
within its observation ; till, frightened by some untoward oc- 
currence, it runs hurrying back, oppressed and terrified, de- 
siring only to be secure in those loved arms, never again to 
wander away ; so it was with me : I poured out my heart 
unto God afresh ; I prayed and was comforted. How happy 
was I in forming new resolutions for the conduct of my fu- 
ture. Earnestly did I pray to be guided aright ; earnestly 
did I supplicate not to be abandoned to temptation. For a 
few days I enjoyed a serene peace of mind ; then something 
like ennui began to take the place of it ; then my old heart- 
pangs slowly returned, leaving their leaden load in the very 
centre of my young heart. Then I sought relief in my Bible 
and in prayer in vain ; and then again I ceased to pray, seek- 
ing to cheer my spirits in a thousand exciting ways. The 


120 


SAINT LEGER. 


voyage to St. Kilda had broken in so completely upon my 
former habits, both physical and mental, that good appeared 
likely to grow out of it. Yet I had no opportunity in such a 
voyage for reflection. But I did think sometimes. There 
were occasional texts of Scripture which would for weeks be 
ever present to my mind, and which, in spite of me, I could 
not help almost constantly repeating. I distinctly remember 
the following to have been among the number : 

“O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? 

O Judah, what shall I do unto thee? 

For your goodness is as a morning cloud, 

And as the early dew it goetb away.” 

“ And the last state of that man is worse than the first.” 

These solemn passages of scripture were at that time con- 
tinually in my mind. They stood out in my imagination like 
the handwriting upon the wall. I felt condemned; my for- 
mer terrors revived; my soul was in darkness. I found my- 
self suddenly thrown back to my old ground. I had travelled 
through so many mental changes only to find myself at 
the starting-place. In the meantime, I began to understand 
the world something better. I saw pleasure and enjoyment in 
it. Sin, to be sure as did Satan, came also ; but there was 
gratification nevertheless. I now felt the seductive influence 
of the god of this world creeping slowly upon me. It was as 
yet only the foretaste of what I was to experience, but the 
poison had begun to work. The fiend V autrey had roused 
strange feelings in my bosom. I hated him and despised him ; 
but with all that, I envied him. Yes, I envied him his knowl- 
edge of the world, of life, and for all that he had seen and ex- 
perienced. Besides, my soul longed for gratification, and I 
envied him for what he had enjoyed. So strictly had I dealt 
with myself that it seemed as if sinning with a high hand 
would act upon my nature as a moral alterative, and prove 


SAINT LEGER. 


121 


of healthful influence. Like the convalescent who, has been 
confined for weeks to a low diet, and who hankers for high- 
seasoned and rich-flavored food, even so I yearned after the 
flesh-pots of Egypt, longing “ to roll sin as a pleasant morsel 
under my tongue.” Alas ; what had become of all my good 
resolutions ; my enlarged plans for benevolent action ; my 
earnest desires to benefit my kind ; my rules for self-improve- 
ment 1 How strangely vanished. How suddenly forgotten. 

** How is the gold become dim ! 

How is the most fine gold changed 1" 

was the lamentation of the prophet, and bitterly did I after- 
ward take it up. Bear in mind that I am inditing this 
story several years subsequent to these events. I do not 
wish it to be understood that I came to an open avowed res- 
olution to commit or to live in sin ; such nevertheless was my 
private secret conclusion, kept secret even from myself ; for 
the arch enemy, when he would most successfully enslave the 
soul, inculcates the Christian rule : 

Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.” 

Now that all has come to pass, I can speak understandingly. 
As I have before said, I write for the young; for those whose 
sympathies are not yet destroyed. Hearken, then, to my ap- 
peal. Read and reflect upon my history, and pray God it 
may prove to thee an instructive lesson ; and may that lesson 
not have come too late. 

Thus much at present of my inner life. It may appear in- 
consistent with what I write of my external. But again I re- 
neat. the record is true. 


122 


SAINT LEGER. 


XXX. 

After we had breakfasted, Hubert and myself sat down 
to a protracted conference, rendered necessary, as we thought, 
by my report of the extraordinary occurrence of the morning. 
In this conference we discussed matters of high importance. 
We certainly had many difficult questions to pass upon. In 
the first place, who could that beautiful girl be ? What had 
sent her to this remote spot? Who was her protector? 
Then, what had she to do with Vautrey; what was Vautrey 
doing here ; and who and how many were in his company ? 
Such were the j)oints canvassed over and over by us, but 
about which we could come to no satisfactory conclusion. I 
now told Hubert why I had been so inquisitive about the 
word “ Woedallah,” and we both agreed that the package of 
Aunt Alice might prove of much assistance to us. In the 
meantime, we undertook to get all possible information from 
the missionary and the inhabitants of the island. Christie also 
was to be put on the scent, and his two followers if necessary; 
and thus the campaign commenced. 

We spent part of the day in the company of the worthy, 
Mr. David Cantyre, whose hospitality had been so freely 
tendered, and who did all in his power to render our visit 
agreeable. From him we received a minute account of the 
island and its inhabitants, which would have afforded me at 
any other time abundant source of entertainment ; but after 
the exciting events of the morning, I found it difficult to fix 
my attention upon anything else. I forbore to question the 
minister about that which I most desired to know, until I had 
gained further upon his intimacy. To this end I asked him 


SAINT LEUER. 


123 


about his own personal history ; and, in order to draw him 
out, ventured to express my wonder that he should have 
consented to bury himself in such a remote spot, cut off from 
all communication with the world, and enjoying nothing like 
refined society, or the pleasant intercourse of friends. To 
this the minister replied, that no sacrifice was too great which 
the cause of Christ demanded; and that in the performance 
of his simple duties he derived a lively satisfaction which to 
him was beyond all price. He recounted much of his past 
life, gave an account of his first landing at St. Kilda, and of 
what he had done and hoped to do among the inhabitants. 
Altogether, the minister was a man to be loved and respected. 
And the contemplation of such a character might, under other 
circumstances, have deeply impressed me ; but now nothin «■ 
could divert me from the pursuit in which I was embarked ; 
I do believe that nothing, not even the fear of everlasting 
perdition, would have forced me to abandon it. Hubert, 
in the meanwhile, had conferred with Christie, and Christie 
had promised soon to give us all the information we desired. 
His opinion was, that Vautrey, had taken possession of some 
one of the small rocky islands near St. Kilda, perhaps Boreray 
or Soay. He was told that a strange boat had been seen for 
two or three weeks past hovering about the island, and it was 
at first supposed when we landed that it belonged to us. 
Hubert communicated nothing further to Christie, except his 
desire for immediate information ; and in such a case where, 
as the faithful old follower believed, the honor of his young 
master was at stake, to hear was to obey. The next day, 
Hubert and myself set out on a tour of observation. We 
visited some of the prominent localities of the island. We 
climbed together the lofty Conagra, which rises with fearful 
abruptness from the head of the’ bay to a height of nearly six 
thousand feet, commanding from its summit a view of .Tiore 


124 


SAINT LEGER. 


than one hundred and fifty miles in extent. Thence we took 
a survey of the entire coast. There was nothing which could 
be called a harbor belonging to the island, and but two places 
where it was even possible to land ; the first was near the 
village, the other was at the spot where I had seen Vautrey 
put in. The island was full of little cells or grottoes, like the 
one I have mentioned, which were evidently of great antiqui- 
ty; at least we could learn nothing of their origin; none of 
the inhabitants could give us any information about them ; 
and Mr. David Cantyre, to his praise be it spoken (in view 
of what I suffered from Mr. Alexander MacLeod), was no an- 
tiquarian. In making our circuit, we came to the place of my 
previous adventure : we looked about over rock and valley, 
and into every secret nook, in hopes to discover something — 
we cared but little what — to throw light upon the strange 
scene I had witnessed. But our labors were fruitless. The 
grotto where Vautrey and the maiden had parted, was de- 
serted, and nothing within betrayed that it ever had been the 
trysting-place of lovers. We were both disappointed, and in 
consequence began to feel the fatigues of the day more sen- 
sibly. The route to the village would complete the circuit we 
desired to make ; so we returned home, wearied but not dis- 
couraged. Full of resolution and youthful ardor, we retired 
to rest, determined on the morrow to continue the search. 


KXXI. 

What a wonderful impression had Leila (ye?, that was 
the name Vautrey had pronounced) made upon me. Nev- 
er had I beheld so beautiful a creature ; never before wit- 
nessed such gi'ace, such exquisite perfection, such incompara- 
ble charms. I remembered with singular minuteness every 
look, and every ejtpression, every feature and every linen- 


SAINT LEGER. 


125 


merit of her face ; and the more I thought of her, the more 
impatient I became to solve the mystery. A young maiden, 
dressed in a style adapted to the most refined society, alone 
in St. Kilda? Impossible ! Again, she was known to Vaut- 
rey, and the count had intimated in what he said to her, that 
* they had formerly been friends ; how my heart beat at the 
thought : but it was evident they were fiiends no longer. 
The more my mind dwelt upon this strange enigma, the more 
excited I became, until I resolved to speculate no further, but 
await the result of our investigation. Hubert was up be- 
times the next morning, and roused me. His determination 
to find Vautrey was after all occasioned, as I believed, more 
from a natural desire to solve the mystery of his presence at 
St. Kilda, than from any feeling of revenge for the old affront. 
Indeed, what to a youth of eighteen could be more exciting 
than an undertaking of this sort 1 As Hubert had waived all 
interest in the beautiful Unknown (not having beheld her, he 
could do so, as I thought, the more readily), we made an 
equitable division of our labors, he undertaking, with the aid 
of his followers, to find Vautrey, “ dead or alive,” as he ex- 
pressed it, and I agreeing, by no means unwillingly, to dis- 
cover the fair maiden of the grotto. Leaving my cousin to 
his plans, I set out once more to visit the delightful valley, 
which the minister told me bore the name of the “Female 
Warrior’s Glen,” from an amazon very famous in the tradi- 
tions of the island. I was resolved this time to be thorough 
in my search, for I was sure that there must be a habitation 
of some sort near at hand. Nor did the result prove me mis- 
taken ; for after traversing -the valley in every possible di- 
rection, I went around a small ledge of rocks, which were 
apparently so near the coast that it had not occurred to me 
there could be any considerable space beyond. I was 
much surprised to discover there a miniature valley or glen, 


126 


SAINT LEGER. 


remarkably beautiful, in the centre of which stood a small 
stone building. 

This picturesque little spot was presented so suddenly to 
my view, that I stopped short in amazement, and was for a 
few moments lost in admiration of its beauty. Presently I 
beheld a man come from the hut, for it was little else, aiK^ 
leisurely advance a few steps, as if to take the air. Whether 
he saw me or not, I could not tell ; at any rate, he took no 
notice of me whatever. Observing him closely, I per- 
ceived that he was a man past the prime of life, perhaps 
fifty years of age; he was of middling stature, of rather 
spare habit of body, having a bold, prominent, but narrow 
forehead, thinly covered with gray hair. What was remark- 
able, he was dressed with scrupulous exactness, and in every 
respect after the English style, and his garments were made 
in the fashion of the then present season. My resolution was 
taken : I determined to accost the stranger. Walking toward 
him, I did what I could to attract his notice, but to no pur- 
pose ; his eyes were turned in every direction but toward me. 
It was not till I had come close upon him, that he recognised 
my presence. Begging pardon for the interruption, I asked 
him the nearest route to the village. 

“ On your honor, young man,” said the stranger, “ have 
you lost your way, or has an idle curiosity brought you 
hither?” 

“ Neither,” returned I, boldly ; “ but ” 

“ Pass on, then, pass on ! annoy me not with the sight of my 
kind. It is burthen enough to endure myself. Pass on, 
pass on, and molest me no further !” exclaimed the stranger, 
waving his hand as he spoke. 

“ I will not pass on,” said I, roused by his tone, “ till I have 
said what I have to say to you.” 

“ Wliat sends you here ?” interrupted he, pettishly. 


SAINT LEGER. 


127 


** Destiny,” returned I. 

“ Destiny,” muttered the otter; and then continuing, as if 
to himself : “To hear the world prate of destiny : as if destiny 
were a god to direct and control : destiny, forsooth : why, 
destiny is what is.” Then turning to me, he added, “ You 
rave, young man.” 

I now narrowly examined the speaker. His appearance 
indicated the misanthrope ; not the misanthrope by nature, 
but one who had been soured with the world, perhaps from 
good cause ; one who had endured the “ slings and ar- 
rows of outrageous fortune” until there was no sensibility 
left in his bosom T looked once more at the clear sharp out- 
line of forehead, boldly developed (though narrow), the 
deep-set, expressive gray eyes, the dignified though slightly 
petulant air : and in all I saw — shall I say it ? — some strange, 
mysterious resemblance to — myself. I paused — I trembled ; 
I resolved on one more trial : “ In the name of all that you 
hold sacred, tell me,” I exclaimed, “ are you called the Wced- 
allah?” 

“ There is nothing I hold sacred, young man,” answered 
the stranger ; “ you adjure me in vain ; but if it will satisfy 
you to learn the fact, so that you will then leave me and pass 
on your way, I answer that I am called the Woedallah.” 

“ Stay one moment, and I have done,” I exclaimed, per- 
ceiving that this singular man was returning to his dwelling ; 
“stay but a single moment” — and drawing forth the little 
package with which Aunt Alice had intrusted me, I handed it 
to him without speaking, and awaited the effect it might pro- 
duce. He took the parcel, examined the superscription with- 
out emotion, and proceeded to open it. When he beheld the 
ring, his countenance changed, first to deep red, then to dead- 
ly pale ; his whole frame was convulsed, his limbs trembled, 
his lips quivered ; he was evidently laboring under agonizing 
emotion ; but he recovered somewhat, and proceeded to read 


129 


8AINT LEGER. 


what was written. This done, he turned and lobked at me 
with agaze so earnest and so penetrating that I almost shrunk 
from it. As he looked, I thought I discovered tears start in 
his eyes ; his countenance changed to an expression of deep 
melancholy ; and pointing toward the door of his dwelling, he 
said to me, in a low, indistinct tone, “ Enter.” 

I obeyed the direction, and on going in, found myself in a 
small, but neatly furnished apartment, in which was, among 
other articles, a well filled bookcase ; over it were suspended 
a musket and small-arms : a sword and several daggers. There 
was no one in the room : of this I took care to assure myself 
when I first entered ; and despite the excitement of the mo- 
ment, I felt disappointed. My host pointed to a chair, and I 
sat down ; he also took a seat beside me, and examined my 
countenance with searching scrutiny. As there was no ap- 
pearance of impertinent inquisitiveness in his manner, I re- 
mained quiet, resolving that I would not be the first to break 
the silence. 

“ It is even so,” observed he, at length, as if communing 
with himself; “ it is even so ; my eyes again behold a Saint 
Leger ; one of my own flesh and blood is before me ; and 
although I have forsworn all, ay, everything upon the earth, 
and all above and all below, yet since the race began, has 
never a Saint Leger met a Saint Leger face to face un- 
acknowledged or uncared for, nor ever shall. But why 
came you hither ?” 

As this interrogatory was addressed to me, I replied: 
“ Why 1 came I know not, nor can I give any satisfactory rea- 
son. I was about to spend some time in the highlands, and 
as I was leaving Warwickshire, Aunt Alice put in my hands 
the package you now have. I have told you all.” 

“Warwickshire,” exclaimed my kinsman; “beautiful, 
lovely Warwickshire: its gentle Avon, its enchanting laud- 


SAINT LEGER. 


129 


scapes ! Accursed be they,” continued he, in a lower tone, 
“ now and for ever. Did you leave all these, and to come 
here V' 

“ I did leave all these, and to come here,’” was my calm 
reply. I was about to add something further, when the door 
of the adjoining apartment opened, and the beautiful Leila 
stood upon the threshold. 


XXXII. 

Yes — the beautiful Leila stood upon the threshold. There 
could be no doubt of her identity with the maiden I had seen 
with Vautrey. She stood motionless, and for a moment 
seemed lost in astonishment at beholding a stranger. She 
was about retiring, when her father — for so he proved to be — 
prevented her retreat. “ Leila,” he said, “ come hither.” 
The latter slowly obeyed the summons, advancing, without, 
however, in the least noticing me. “ My child,” said the 
Woedallah, as I will now call him, “ this is our kinsman, Wil- 
liam Henry Saint Leger, from Warwickshire ; you will re- 
ceive him as such.” 

The maiden drew herself up, made me a distant salutation, 
which I returned with equal hauteur, and said to her father 
in Italian ; 

“ I beg you will not force upon me a new acquaintance ; 
pray let me retire.” To which I immediately replied, “ Un- 
fortunately, mademoiselle, I am sufficiently acquainted with 
the Italian to comprehend what you say ; I am equally un- 
lucky in understanding French, German, Spanish, the dead 
languages, and my mother-tongue. If you will have the 
kindness to select any other, I promise you I can not play the 
eaves-dropper.” 

The girl was fairly taken by surprise at my impudence, and 
9 


130 


SAINT LEGER. 


seemed for a moment at a loss whether or not to receive it in 
good part. The oddity of the whole scene, I think, turned 
the scale in my favor. Extending to me her hand, she ex- 
claimed : 

“ Since our kinsman has so many weapons at command, 
submission on our part is discretion. Welcome, Mr. Saint 
Leger, to the rocks of St. Kilda.” 

“And since,” replied I, warmly, “ I have at last received a 
kinsman’s reception, I beg to make an apology for my rude- 
ness.” 

“Enough,” interrupted the Woedallah, much to my chagrin ; 
“ enough for this once, or you will exceed bounds. So it is 
ever with youth ; one extreme or the other ; now all ice, then 
a burning heat ; ecstasy or despair ; frowning like Medusa, 
or smiling like Helen. Why should it not be so ] What 
would the world come to, if the young had experience 1 To 
an end, speedily. So, go on — go on; freeze and seethe, 
bubble and boil, till life has ended, and not even the vapor 
remains.” 

I stood regarding the speaker in mute astonishment during 
this strange harangue. When he had concluded, I turned to 
witness its effect upon Leila, but discovered that she had 
taken advantage of it to effect a retreat to her own apartment. 
Feeling no desire to encourage conversation of this sort, I 
resolved if possible to put an end to it. “I know not,” said 
I, “to what such remarks tend, nor why they are addressed 
to me. Indeed, why I thus meet you I can scarce tell. You 
invited me to enter, and I did so. If you are my kinsman, 
treat me with the confidence our relationship merits.” 

“If you are my kinsman !” echoed the Woedallah, rising 
and regarding me with a , searching, anxious look f “ misera- 
ble boy, do you doubt it 1 Or — is it possible 1 — can I have 
been deceived 1” he continued, again scrutinizing my features. 


SAINT LEGER. 


131 


No, no — it can not be.” Taking the ring, which I had de- 
livered, from its envelope and again reading what was within, 
he exclaimed, in a louder tone, “Ay, ay, receive him — receive 
him ; but — but poison not his soul — for it may not be.” 

His appearance all this time was so like a madman’s, that 
I turned away my face in horror. The Woedallah paused, 
and then addressed me precisely as if not one word had been 
uttered by him, and I doubt much if he was conscious of 
having spoken. 

“ The confidence you ask,” he said, calmly, “ shall be ex- 
tended to you. Indeed, you have a right to demand it. But 
first tell me how fare all at — Bertold Castle. Your father 
and your mother ? You have a brother and a sister also ; are 
they well ] And — and Aunt Alice, as you call her — 
bears she her years bravely 1 Has time left many marks 
upon her frame? — but her spirit will resist the spoiler 
for ever and for ever — tell me, how is she? Then she knew 
of your coming hither, and gave you these ?” 

One question had followed another in such rapid succes- 
sion that I could not reply to any till the questioner paused. 
I then answered particularly as to our family, stating, as I 
had previously done, that my visit to St. Kilda was almost 
accidental. 

“ Did she not tell you that I was here ?” was the next 
question. 

“ She did not,” was my reply, 

“It is strange; yet not strange,” he continued; “but I 
embarrass you. I am in fault. And so you struck boldly for 
Hirta. A hardy enterprise : how old are you ?” 

I stated my age. “So young — I pity thee: I supposed 
thou hadst fewer years in which to suffer ; but I see thou hast 
not begun to experience. Hast had any misgivings, any 
doubts ?” 


132 


SAINT LBGEIL 


It seemed while I heard these words from the lips of a 
kinsman, words ^^hich echoed back my own secret distrusts 
and fears, as if the arch enemy stood before me, luring me 
to destruction. I shrunk from the tempter. My better na- 
ture rallied to resist the insidious attack, and by this I knew 
how necessary was temptation to a salutary state of mind and 
heart. I answered calmly and with courage : 

“Who trusts his Maker knows neither misgiving nor 
doubt. His providence protects from both.” 

“Wait a while,” returned the other, sneeringly, “ and you 
will tell a different tale. Does Job fear God for naught 1 
Have you not youth and health and senses — a full capacity 
for earthly enjoyment 1 Does not the blood go beating through 
your veins in the very heyday rapture of young life ? Con- 
fidence in your Maker, forsooth : say rather confidence in 
your own glowing energy ; but energy will wane by-and-by, 
and confidence with it.” 

I was startled at such bold and impious language; but 
my heart grew firm under the attack, and I answered, 
“ And why should not man trust his Creator ? Why should 
he have any misgivings, any doubts, as you call them, when 
he knows that Creator to be all-wise, all-just, and all-power- 
ful I And why should not confidence increase with years V* 

“ Because — because,” returned my kinsman, impatiently, 
“ neither in youth nor in early manhood do we enjoy the fruits 
of our labors ; because we are put off, put off till old age, 
before the reward cometh ; until the reward is known to be 
vanity, and we care not for it ; and therefore do distrust and 
apprehension creep gloomily over the soul.” 

“We should carry the reward daily in our bosoms,” said 
I. “ He is a supremely selfish being who looks to the reward 
merely as a reward and selfishness itself is very desolation tq 
the heart.” 


SAINT LEGEB, 


133 


Ho, ho, shouted the other, scornfully; “a philanthropist, 
1 perceive ; and universal benevolence your rule of action. 
Wait till Sin has turned Virtue out-of-doors, and Folly has sent 
Benevolence to keep her company ; till Ingratitude has soured 
your mind, and you have found in your bosom-friend a viper; 
till you have spent life’s progress in that utter toil of the hu- 
man spirit, and you awake, as from a dream, the victim of 
delusive, presumptuous Hope, and find yourself borne down by 
a stern, unaccommodating, unyielding Necessity into deep 
interminable perdition, while the Maker whom you worship- 
ped — ha, ha — mocks at your distresses, or coldly regards 
the helpless struggles of his victim, as if he rejoiced at his 
agonies! Ay, wait — and the time is short — wait till then, 
and you also will exclaim, even as do I, ‘Oh, humanity, 
humanity, how truly do I pity thee.’ ” 

During this harangue, it seemed to me as if I was en- 
countering Satan in bodily presence. At the same time all the 
strength of my moral nature rose within me. I came close 
to the speaker, and boldly met his sarcastic sneer. “Man 1” 
exclaimed I, “tempter! fiend! avaunt — I defy thee. If I 
choose to do right and be virtuous, it is not in the power of 
Omnipotence to make me miserable. If I choose to do wrong 
and be sinful ,G-od himself can not make me happy.” 

As I pronounced these words, the Woedallah started up 
and turned upon me a countenance in which a thousand evil 
spirits seemed struggling for expression. Rage and hate and 
dark despair were stamped upon it, but he spoke not. Just 
then the scroll which Aunt Alice had sent by me fell acci- 
dentally open upon the floor. I took it up and handed it to 
him, at the same time placing my finger upon the words ^he 
had before repeated, “but poison not his soul.” The poor 
man turned his eye upon the paper. All trace of anger and 
hatred vanished. Deep melancholy again took possession of 


134 


SAINT LEGER. 


his features, and he exclaimed: “True — ha! true; too 
true 1 No— I will not — I will not and rushed into the ad- 
joining apartment, 

I stood in strange perplexity. Curious fantasies flocked 
through my brain. I began to believe that I was in the abode 
of some powerful necromancer, who had chosen this storm- 
beaten island for his habitation, and that the fair Leila was 
but the sorceress through whose blandishments I had been 
lured to it. I should not have been much surprised to have 
seen her step forth a wrinkled, ill-favored, shrivelled hag. In 
short, I would most gladly have changed localities with old 
Gonzalo, whose isle, though “full of noises,” 

“ Of elves, of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,” 
was also filled with 

“Sounds and sweet airs, which give delight and hurt not.” 

How I wished for something to destroy the horrible illusion 
which was stealing over me. Had Hubert then made his ap- 
pearance, or had old Christie thrust his head through the nar- 
row doorway, it would have been an indescribable relief. 
What was I to do ? Should I leave in silence, and if so, was 
I privileged to return ? 

At this moment, the beautiful Leila, the influence of whose 
name had certainly caused the last interrogatory, again open- 
ed the door and came into the room. 

“ Mr. Saint Leger,” she said, “ my father desires that you 
will excuse his not seeing you again to-day. He has sud- 
denly been taken ill, and requests that you will visit him to- 
morrow.” 

“ 111 ?” said I ; “ nothing alarming, I hope. Can I not ren- 
der some assistance . 

“None, I assure yoa,” replied the maiden, “yet I must 


SAINT LEGER. 


135 


not leave him and with rather a formal salutation, she dis- 
aj^peared. 

Nothing was left for me hut to make my way back to the 
v.llage, where I found Hubert impatient to see me. 


XXXIII. 

It required, I acknowledge, a great effort to turn from the 
exciting and intensely interesting events of the morning, to 
give attention to Hubert’s vivacious account of his doings 
and discoveries. At first, I could not bear to have the image 
of Leila displaced for a moment from my mind, and I listened 
with so bad a grace for the first few moments, that Hubert be- 
gan to lose patience. This brought me to my senses; and 
promising to pay better heed, I soon became interested in 
his narrative, which I shall condense, leaving out nothing of 
importance. 

He had seen Vautrey. He had discovered his whereabout 
in the following manner : Christie, having been informed that 
the “ strange boat” was in the habit of putting in at the north- 
west side of the island, proceeded with Hugh and Aleck to 
watch its movements. They saw Vautrey and two others 
leave the shore and steer due north. Christie at once set 
sail after them, and managed to keep in sight till he saw the 
adventurers land at Boreray. Returning at once, he inform- 
ed Hubert of his success, and the whole party embarked 
again, taking in three natives of the island, with whom Christie 
had become well acquainted, through his friend the old her- 
ring cruiser. It being but some two leagues to Boreray, and 
the day fine, the latter place was quickly made, when all 
hands landed except one, who strayed with the boat. Ac- 
cording to Hubert’s account, the isle was “full of wonders;” 
a little more than a mile in circumference, and girt about 


136 


SAINT LEGER. 


with rocks piled upon each other to a prodigious height. A 
considerable number of sheep and an innumerable quantity 
of sea-fowl were its sole occupants. The St. Kilda men in- 
formed Christie that there was a large stone dwelling in the 
island, which Vautrey had undoubtedly converted to his use. 
Thither Hubert and his company repaired. As was antici- 
pated, they found the place inhabited ; and on seeking admis- 
sion, Hubert and Count Vautrey met. The latter was com- 
pletely surprised, and for the first time almost in his life lost 
his self-possession. He evidently supposed — for when does 
guilt ever rest undisturbed in the human bosom — that Glen- 
finglas had not survived his wound, and that highland retribu- 
tion had followed him thither. He scarcely recognised the 
presence of the intruders, but waited for Hubert to speak 
first. The latter, forgetting for the moment their late quarrel, 
at once relieved Vautrey from his embarrassment. 

“Count,” said he, “we have met strangely enough. My 
voyage to St. Kilda was made without the slightest suspicion 
of meeting you here ; and we have to-day visited Boreray 
from curiosity, understanding, I admit, that a strange boat had 
landed in the island.” 

“Hubert Moncrielf,” returned Vautrey, “as I have said 
before, I have no cause for mortal quarrel with you. I have 
felt no hatred toward you, neither had I any enmity against 
that dull fool, Glenfinglas. He bearded me ; if he perished, 
he provoked his fate.” 

“Not so fast, count,” said Hubert, a little piqued; “the 
life of yon highland laird is not so easily struck from his body, 
although I admit your skill, and doubt not that you did your 
best ; but believe me, Glenfinglas is as good as new ; ready 
to wage his feud with you for ever and a day ; so take heed 
how you go near Kilchurn Castle.” 

“I am glad,” said Vautrey, “it is no worse. As for his 


SAINT LEGER. 


137 


enmity, why, if he provokes me, I shall strike surer next time. 
And as for you, Moncrieff, if you choose it so, here is my 
hand, in token that the past goes for nothing.’^ 

It was with no little surprise that Hubert perceived the 
count adopt a tone so different from his character ; but as he 
had no time to consider the subject, he received his hand and 
assented, with what readiness he could, to his friendly over- 
ture. During this conversation, Vautrey’s followers had en- 
tered the apartment. One of them proved to be the same 
sinister-looking fellow that attended him at Glencoe ; the 
other was, as Hubert expressed it, “ the most perfect speci- 
men of goblin-ugliness” he ever beheld ; “ the very imper- 
sonation of all that was wild, savage, and malicious.” “ It 
was amusing,” said Hubert, “ to witness Christie’s demeanor 
during the interview. He was doubtless anticipating violence 
of some sort; and when Vautrey’s men entered, you might 
have seen the old fellow take a firmer position ; his eyes di- 
lated, his muscles seemed braced up for duty, and his whole 
person was evidently on guard ; while Hugh and Aleck 
closely watched his motions, prepared, if need be, for instant 
service. The two St. Kilda men stood directly behind ready 
for anything that should be required.” Without doubt, 
V autrey’s consciousness of guilt, and the presence of superior 
numbers, caused him to pursue a course which he knew would 
not fail to be successful with one of Hubert’s manly and gen- 
erous character. 

“As you say,” remarked the count, quietly, “it is strange 
that we should meet here, and by mere accident. Pray, when 
do you return to Glencoe ?” 

“Oh,” replied Hubert, “we shall be off in a few days ; in- 
deed, I am ready now, for I have had enough of climbing 
rocks and tasting salt water ; but I wait Saint Leger’s move- 
ments. He planned the voyage, so I defer to him,” 


138 


SAINT LEGER. 


“ Saint Leger,” exclaimed Vautrey, starting as if a serpent 
had stung him; “Saint Leger, is he with you!” Hubert 
nodded assent. “ Saint Leger ! Death and damnation ! Hell 
and furies ! am I to be doubly thwarted ? A pretty story 
you have trumped up, to deceive me as to the object of your 
voyage. You think to circumvent me, and you would accom- 
plish this by a low deception. ‘Met by accident’ — ha, ha. 
This, then, is the boasted faith of a Moncrieff. A petty sub- 
terfuge, and a lie with a circumstance.” 

“Vautrey,” said Hubert, pallid with suppressed passion, 
but at the same time very calm; “Vautrey, I repeat what 
I have said; and I add besides, that neither Saint Leger 
nor myself had the slightest suspicion that you were in St. 
Kilda when we landed here. And now, unless you retract 
upon the spot the opprobrious words you have dared to utter 
against my honor and my name, mark me, Vautrey, you 
die — ay, you die like a dog; for I will not contaminate 
myself ; but you shall be ignominiously put to death by my 
followers ; overpowered by numbers, if you choose so to call 
it, as a noxious animal is hunted down, and his carrion carcass 
thrown out to feed the vultures.” 

While Hubert was speaking, Vautrey stood like some ma- 
lignant fiend, whose plans of wickedness have suddenly been 
discovered and frustrated. He even ground his teeth with 
rage, but did not change his position, except to glance toward 
his men, only one of whom remained near him. The savage 
had just before retreated into the next apartment. 

Quick as thought Vautrey’s whole demeanor changed. 
Again he assumed a frank and open, though calm manner : 
“Moncrieff,” said he, “you were right — I was wrong. In 
this case, I was the first to provoke you by unreasonable and 
improper accusation ; still, as you may perhaps know, this 
game Saint Leger and myself are no friends ; and, excuse me, 


SAINT LEGER. 


139 


there was a particular reason why the mention of his name 
just then should annoy, nay, very much disturb me. Let it 
pass. You were excited, and threatened me. You were in 
the right ; so let that pass. I believe you will not deny to 
me personal courage ; and that, fearing as I do, neither man 
nor devil, you will credit the concessions I make to the right 
motive. If this does not satisfy you, come on; the stag is at 
bay; Laurent de Vautrey will die as he has lived, defying 
his enemies.” 

“There was something about this speech,” said Hubert, 
“there was something about Vautrey’s manner, which almost 
convinced me that he spoke as he felt, although I remember- 
ed your explanation of hi^ character : that he had no feeling, 
and spoke only as he ought to feel. Still, I could not appear 
otherwise than satisfied with his retraction. I therefore told 
him I was glad to hear him take back so foul a slander, and 
that what had passed between us I was willing should be for- 
gotten. So, after a little unimportant conversation, carried 
on with resti'aint, we took leave of this forty-fifth cousin of 
ours, who was all the time, I know, secretly cursing me from 
the bottom of his heart. Depend upon it, we shall have trou- 
ble with that fellow. But he need not think to deceive me 
by this hypocritical reconciliation. His eyes were full of the 
venom of the damned, while he was pretending a great desire 
for peace and amity. He came near his end, I assure you. 
Christie had advanced half a pace in front, and was longing 
to begin. But it is best ended as it is — if we have indeed 
seen the end. Now, Saint Leger, what word from you? 
What of our beautiful storm-nymph, and the old surly storm- 
king, her father ? See if you can surpass me in the recital 
of the marvellous.” 

1 was particularly disinclined to give to any one an ac- 
count of the scene between my kinsman and myself, so I 


140 


SAINT LEGER. 


treated Hubert to a general outline, concluding by inform- 
ing him that I was to have another interview on the morrow. 

“Well,” said Hubert, “for my part, I have had enough of 
St. Kilda. Our adventures appear pretty well over, unless 
you are yet to make something out of yon dark-eyed damsel, 

or the old pshaw, I never can remember that word. 

Who knows, by the way, but he keeps the young girl pent up 
in this desolate place against her will ? What say you to ef- 
fecting her deliverance, and then ‘ up stick’ and away 1 Seri- 
ously, though, when shall we be offl I want to witness a 
hunt for birds’-eggs, which I am told is a wonderful affair ; 
and we shall have one, Christie says, in two or three days ; 
after that, what say you for Glencoe 

I mechanically gave my assent to whatever Hubert sug- 
gested, for my mind was so full of the events of the day that 
I could do little else. 

XXXIV. 

In my perplexity I resolved to apply to the excellent Mr. 
David Cantyre. I readily entered into conversation with the 
worthy man, which very naturally turned upon what I had 
seen new and interesting during the day’s ramble. I men- 
tioned without hesitation my meeting with a “most singular 
personage,” detailing however nothing of what had passed, 
except that I spent some time in his company. I concluded 
by asking Mr. Cantyre to tell me the motive which caused 
such a person to sojourn here, apparently without occupation 
or inducement. 

“My young friend,” said the minister, “I do not wonder 
at your curiosity ; but I very much wonder how you could 
have prevailed upon this strange man to converse with you, 
especially at this time, when he is not alone.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


141 


** You refer to his daughter,” said I. 

“Yes,” replied the minister; “you certainly did not see 
her?” 

“ She came into the room,” I replied, “without being aware 
of my presence there. But, excuse me, I am eager to hear 
all you know about them.” 

“It is a long story,” said my host, “but I will make it as 
brief as possible. Some six years ago, a boat put into the 
landing-place, containing, besides the crew, a man, a little 
girl, and an old female servant. After remaining here but a 
day, the boat again put to sea. Our people are hospitable, 
and food and shelter were at once offered to the new comers. 
The man was somewhat past the prime of life, and had evi- 
dently experienced that wear and tear of spirit which never 
fails to bring on premature old age. He seemed to carry 
within him a restless, unquiet soul, which had long sought for 
tranquillity, and found it not. Yet there was no shrinking 
from intercourse with his fellow men, no expressed desire to 
live apart from them, or in privacy ; on the contrary, giving 
as a reason for selecting St. Kilda for his abode, the advan- 
tages of an exclusive sea-atmosphere, he interested himself 
in the various matters of the island, and appeared desirous to 
do what good he could. At this time our present worthy and 
most excellent steward was not the incumbent of St. Kilda ; 
neither was I then in charge of its spiritualities, nor was there, 
indeed, any minister here. The former steward had the 
name of being a hard-fisted, griping, tyrannical person. He 
employed a deputy of the same nature as himself to collect 
his rents. Not content with putting an additional tax upon 
sheep, this creature insisted upon receiving, as a special per- 
quisite, every seventh fleece and every seventh lamb, a certain 
number ’of eggs and a certain quantity of oil. Upon persons 
of so small means as the poor Hirta people, this extortion had 


142 


SAINT LEGER. 


a most cruel effect. In the meantime the stranger began to 
feel quite at home in his new abode. He had been furnished 
with a comfortable dwelling, for which, however, he paid 
most bountifully in gold, an article the St. Kildans had very 
little acquaintance with, but of which they nevertheless knew 
the use. His little girl was a dark-eyed, sprightly, beautiful 
child ; and altogether, a deep interest was felt by these sim- 
ple-minded people for both parent and child. The cause of 
their coming hither remained a profound mystery, nor do I 
know if it has been solved to this day. Although the stranger 
evidently carried at his heart some heavy weight, which sad- 
dened and depressed his spirit, he manifested no misanthropic 
feelings, but availed himself of every means to be useful 
to the inhabitants. ; 

“ In a short time he was looked upon as a superior being ; 
his advice was asked and taken, he was called upon in sick- 
ness, and his remedies were almost always efficacious. As 
the stranger never had betrayed his name to any one, and as 
there was no way to discover it, he was called by the island- 
ers ‘ The Staller literally, ‘ The Man of the Rocks a name, 
in a St. Kildan’s estimation, conveying a compliment of the 
highest kind. As he gradually became more esteemed among 
them, especially for his skill in the healing art, he received 
the superior title of Woedaller, or as some write it, Woedallah 
— literally, ‘ The God of the Rocks;’ and by that name he is 
now universally known. As the autumn approached, the 
same boat which had brought this strange being hither, made 
its appearance, freighted with necessaries for its owner, re- 
ceived his child on board, and departed. Meanwhile, the 
tyranny of the old steward became nearly insupportable. He 
even objected to the stranger’s remaining in the island, and 
continued to levy tax upon tax upon the poor St. Rildans, 
with increasing rapacity. In their distress they applied to 


SAINT LEGER. 


143 


the Woedallah, and begged him to afford them some relief. 
He undertook to remonstrate with the deputy, but the only 
consequence was, an order for him to leave the island. 
This produced a general feeling of indignation, but the in- 
habitants were so completely dependent upon the steward, 
that resistance appeared hopeless. Not so thought the 
stranger. He called the men together, advised them to sub- 
mit to such tyranny no longer, and offered himself to effect 
their deliverance. The St. Kildans were, as you see them, 
a hardy but simple race, bold and courageous ; nay, perform- 
ing the most daring feats in their ordinary avocations ; yet 
the idea of rebellion against what they considered the consti- 
tuted authority, to which they and their fathers before them 
had implicitly submitted, struck their hearts with fear. Al- 
though they regarded the Woedallah as almost superhuman, 
and felt that he had done them great service, yet the prestige 
of ancient dominion, no matter how" unjust and oppressive, 
had so strong an influence over their minds, that they trembled 
to break through it. The utter helplessness of their situation 
no doubt lent a strong argument to this conclusion. The 
Woedallah heard their decision with mortification and anger ; 
pronounced them craven, faint-hearted poltroons, and de- 
clared that he himself would resist in person any encroach- 
ment upon his rights. 

“ In this resolution he was joined by some ten or twelve 
hardy young men, who were devoted to him body and soul, 
and who now entered into the struggle for liberty with all 
the determination and ardor of young and stout hearts. The 
next time the steward’s deputy approached the island, he was 
told very significantly that it would be dangerous for him to 
land; and on his attempting it, he was repulsed without 
ceremony, and he himself narrowly escaped being drowned 
fi'om an over-ducking. The W^oedallah took no active part 


144 


SAINT LEGER. 


in this affair, but it was believed that he directed the entire 
movement. Soon after, his own boat, which came regularly 
to the island twice a year, arrived, bringing many necessaries 
now absolutely required by the inhabitants. These were 
distributed impartially among them without compensation, 
and the poor St. Kilda men began to feel all the privileges of 
freemen. But the steward was too influential a personage to 
allow the affair to rest in this way. He made a second at- 
tempt to land in person, but with no better success. Incensed 
by such open contempt for his authority, he applied to his 
cousin the Duke of Buccleugh, by whose influence a company 
of his majesty’s troops were ordered to land in Hirta, and en- 
force submission among the refractory tenants. Even then, 
had the whole strength of the island united to resist the as- 
sailants, the latter might have been defeated ; but the appear- 
ance of a military force struck these ignorant people with 
awe and terror. Indeed, there was scarcely anything like 
resistance. But before the active participators in ‘ the rebel- 
lion,’ as it was termed, could be discovered, they had safely 
effected their escape from the northwest point of the island, 
accompanied by the Woedallah, in a small boat belonging to 
him. The party, consisting of twelve men in all, took pos- 
session of Soay, a small island but a little distance southwest 
of Hirta, belonging also to the steward, which was uninhabit- 
ed, except by large flocks of sheep and bevys of sea-fowl. 
Here the fugitives built a strange kind of residence. We 
will sail across and take a look at it to-morrow if you like. 
It is some ten or twenty feet high, the top being level with 
the earth, by which it is surrounded ; thence it extends down- 
ward in a circular form, gradually enlarging and enlarging, 
until the bottom is reached ; while at the top it narrows off in 
the form of a cone, that a single large stone covers it. By 
removing the stone, the habitation is ventilated. There is a 


SAINT LEGER. 


145 


large stone seat built around the paved floor on which some 
sixteen can conveniently sit, and four beds are built skilfully 
into the wall, each capable of holding four persons. To each 
of these is a separate entrance, the whole being most saga- 
ciously arranged to prevent discovery and to resist attack. I 
believe there were but two attempts made to dispossess the 
■occupants of the curious home they had chosen. Each time the 
elements seemed to rise in their favor, for a storm sprung up 
before it was possible to effect a landing, and so carefully was 
the place guarded, that at any time it would have proved a 
dangerous experiment, 

** F or more than a year the Woedallah and his men main- 
*-<iined this position, without any communication with the main 
island. He had sent his small boat off with two or three men, on 
first going to Soay, and in due time another boat landed there, 
freighted with necessaries. The inhabitants of Hirta began 
to miss the favors which they formerly received, and fain 
would have visited the Woedallah in his retreat, but this the lat- 
ter would not permit. Meanwhile the steward of St. Kilda and its 
dependencies having gone, as was his custom at certain seasons, 
'to Edinburgh, where he partook most freely of dinners, of 
suppers, of whiskey punches and brandy toddy, went home, 
and — died ; some said of a surfeit ; others denied this, from 
the fact that he was in the habit of indulging in this way at 
least twice every year. So the matter never was settled ; 
except indeed that he did die and was admitted to Christian 
burial. With his successor everything was changed. The 
rents were v reduced ; a minister (my worthy predecessor), 
was again sent to the island ; for no minister would consent 
to remain under the old steward ; and the wants of the people 
kindly regarded. The change produced by this new state of 
■things was instantaneous. Cheerfulness and prosperity again 
reigned in St. Kilda, and happiness and contentment univer- 


146 


SAINT LEGER. 


sally prevailed. The men who had taken up their abode in 
Soay now returned ; but not the Woedallah. He had left 
that island as soon as his followers had landed in Hirta, and 
had sailed no one knew whither. At the end of another 
year he came back. It was the same season T myself came 
hither. He did not make the usual landing, but put in at 
the same place which he had left two years before, near the 
spot where you saw and conversed with him. He had land- 
ed and taken possession of his old dwelling (which remained 
unoccupied) before any one was aware of it. Mystery mark- 
ed all his yiovements. Report said that a beautiful female, 
though past the bloom of womanhood, had been forcibly 
taken ashore, and was detained a captive in the habitation of 
the Woedallah. The boat did not remain, so that no informa- 
tion was elicited from the crew. The only person ever visi- 
ble about the premises was the same old woman who had 
before been with the Woedallah. Shortly after he landed, 
the old creature brought me a letter from the steward, de- 
siring that the wants of this strange man might be supplied, 
should he ever require any aid, and requesting that his pri- 
vacy might never (with a particular emphasis on the word) be 
intruded upon. 

“ On his arrival, the whole island went to greet him, and 
welcome him back, for he was looked upon with affectionate 
regard by every man, woman, and child, in St. Kilda ; but the 
Woedallah declined communication with any except his fel- 
low sojourners at Soay, whom he received kindly, and con- 
versed with a few moments earnestly. They then took leave 
of him, and never visited him again. After this, the most 
singular and absurd reports began to be spread about. The 
story of the captive lady gained ground daily; but the little 
glen and landing-place beyond were rarely visited. Regu- 
larly twice a year the Woedallah’s boat made its appearance, 


SAINT LEGER. 


147 


freighted with stores and necessaries of every description. 
What is remarkable, the Woedallah became very particular 
in his dress : before, it always had a foreign appearance ; 
now it was plain, entirely English, and was newly replenish- 
ed every six months. With him personally I have had no 
intercourse ; and by thus humoring his wishes, have some- 
times been able indirectly to render him desirable assistance ; 
for there are things in St. Kilda, strange to say, that money 
can not command. In return, I have often received from the 
old woman a new and valuable book, or some little luxury or 
convenience not to be obtained here. I had nearly forgotten 
to mention that there was a report about a year ago that the 
captive lady had breathed her last. One of the St. Kilda men 
affirmed, that passing near the glen one day, he had the cour- 
age to steal near the dwelling and peep in, where he saw the 
old woman standing by the neatly disposed corpse of the depart- 
ed female. Another affirmed that when the next boat left, it re- 
ceived on board something very like a coffin. These rumors 
it is impossible to place reliance upon ; the whole affair is 
veiled in mystery ; a mystery which I care not to pry into. 
All that I know about it you have heard.” 

I thanked the minister for his narrative, and as the evening 
was advanced, I bade him good-night, and turned once more 
into my hole in the wall, my brain full of new fancies and new 
perplexities. At last I fell asleep. 

XXXV. 

The next morning found me up betimes; nor was Hubert 
behind me. He had planned an excursion with Christie, in 
which I was to be a party if I chose ; but my services were 
not insisted upon. As I was desirous to make one more visit 
to the glen, have one more interview with my strange kins* 


148 


SAINT LEGER. 


man, and take one more last look (was it to be the last ?) at 
the enchanting Leila, I excused myself from joining my 
cousin. I could scarcely wait for a seasonable hour in which 
to present myself at the stone grotto. When I did arrive 
there, I found Leila alone in the apartment before described. 
She received me almost cordially ; and to my inquiries about 
her father, replied that he had passed a restless night, and 
was far from well; she then stepped into the adjoining room, 
and after a few moments returned, saying that if I would 
have patience for a short time, her father would see me. She 
turned again to leave the apartment. As the present was the 
only opportunity I might have for a private interview, I de- 
termined to make a desperate effort to realize it. “ Patience,” 
said I, “ is a virtue I have not of late particularly exercised, 
and it is especially difficult to practise it alone. Pray, my 
fair cousin (excuse my calling you so for the first, the last, the 
only time — here too, away behind the world), pray, my fair 
cousin, have you any very serious objections to gratifying my 
curiosity upon a subject nearly concerning yourself]” 

“ What would you know ?” said Leila, quietly, yet as I 
thought, not indifferently; at the same time taking her seat. 
“At a last interview much certainly may be allowed.” 

“ Lovers at least say so,” I replied ; “ but I have a claim a 
thousand times stronger than that. A lover may be in de- 
spair ; but I am bewildered ; my brain is turned ; I am 
crazed — positively crazed. I came to St. Kilda through love 
for adventure merely, but I have been so completely baffled, 
perplexed, confounded, during my short sojourn, that I shall 
take advantage of the first fair wind, and — away.” 

“ I certainly regret any incipient symptoms of insanity,” 
said Leila, rather tartly, “ at least on your own account, and 
would recommend an immediate return to some place which 
can boast of civilization and a lunatic asylum. Still, I do not 
call some three or four weeks a very short sojourn at St. Kilda.” 


SAINT LEGEE. 


149 


“Three or four weeks,” exclaimed I, in amazement; 
“ three or four weeks ? I have scarcely been in St. Kilda as 
many days.” 

•‘Nor in its vicinity?” asked Leila, quickly. 

“ Certainly not,” I replied. “ I ^ave not made a single 
landing at any of the contiguous islf ids.” 

“ Then you did not come ” Leila suddenly checked 

herself, and left the sentence unfinished. 

“No, I did not,” replied I, coolly. 

“Nay,” said Leila, “you know not what I was about to 
ask. It was really of no importance, and did not at all con- 
cern me.” 

“You were about to ask,” continued I, speaking very slow- 
ly, “if I did not come with one Vautrey, and I reply. No: I 
did not.” 

“Hush — hush! not so loud,” exclaimed the maiden, in 
a low but excited tone ; “ breathe not that name here. Yet 
tell me ; did you not really come in his company ? Do you 
not know him ? Are you not his friend ?” 

“ Leila,” I said, “ I will answer your question seriously. I 
do know Count Vautrey, but I came not hither with him. I 
have no fellowship nor communion with him. I believe that 
he is a designing, selfish, cold-hearted villain ; a fiend in hu- 
man shape. I in his company 1 Nay, I had rather go to the 
bottomless pit in company with the foul fiend. And now let 
me be questioner. Why do you avoid me, as if I were some 
repulsive object, to loathe and to shrink from ? What have 
you to do with this V aiitrey % Why do you start and become 
agitated at the mention of his name, and bid me ‘ hush,’ as if 
it were guilt to mention it ? Nay, nay : interrupt me not, but 
tell me — may I not ask this — tell me why you are here in 
this strange spot? — when do you leave it, and where do you 
go ? There is some mystery connected with all this. Will 
you not explain it ?” 


150 


SAINT LEGER. 


** When I better understand your right to demand such ex- 
planation,” said Leila, haughtily. “ The private history of 
every one has its peculiarities, yet that is no warrant for the 
curious to pry into it.” 

“ None whatever,” re amed I, in the same tone ; “ and I am 
not at all surprised at be ng refused that confidence as a kins- 
man which you would doubtless have granted to me as the 
friend of Count Vautrey.” 

“ What mean you ?” said Leila. 

“And,” continued I, without noticing the interruption, “ I 
beg to state explicitly that I claim no right to ask you a 
single question, nor to allude to a single event of your life. 
Surely I can have nothing to do with.the affairs of yourself 
and Count Vautrey. Excuse the presumptuous boldness of 
detaining you for a moment.” 

As I concluded, Leila turned upon me a look so desolate, 
so full of sadness, that my conscience smote me for what I 
had uttered. 

“And you hate this Vautrey,” said Leila, slowly. 

“ If ever man can honestly hate his fellow-man, I do,” was 
my reply. 

“ Then I love you,” exclaimed the girl, passionately, start- 
ing up and advancing near me. “And, oh,” continued she, 
bursting into a flood of tears, “ if you knew me, if you knew 
my history — all that I have suffered and endured — what my 
fate has been, and what my destiny surely, too surely, will 
be — but why do I speak thus to a stranger? Yet you are 
my kinsman. Alas, my kinsmen have ever proved my worst 
enemies. Wben shall I have peace ? and whither shall 
I fly ? Even in this remote spot I am persecuted by the im- 
portunities of that wretch. And not one fidend have I in the 
wide world. Tell me, what shall I do ? In this moment of 
agony, when a sense of utter desolation overshadows my 
Boul — alone, alone — it is fearful to live always alone — even 


SAINT LEGER 


151 


at this moment, I come to you, to you whom I have beheld 
but once before — to you whose heart is young, and not like 
mine, burnt up within my bosom — to you I come ; I musty I 
WILL have one friend ; and may Heaven help me, if this last 
hope shall fail.” 

The maiden abandoned herself so completely to her grief 
that it was impossible either to soothe or arrest it. Tears 
rolled down her face ; her dark hair, breaking loose from its 
fastening, fell dishevelled upon her shoulders; her hands 
were clasped together, and her arms, partly upraised, were 
extended toward me. Never have I beheld so beautiful and 
so affecting a spectacle. My astonishment and the novelty of 
my situation for a while kept me speechless ; my cold English 
temper could not immediately sympathize with the passionate 
exhibitions of a nature warmed and fostered under the influ- 
ence of a more genial clime, and to which circumstances had 
undoubtedly given additional cause for such violent emotions. 
But I soon found myself yielding wholly to the influence of 
so exciting a scene. A sympathizing chord in my own heart 
was struck, and it responded. For all that, my manner was 
cold ; I felt that it was cold ; and it seemed almost unfriendly 
when contrasted with the ardent temperament of Leila. I 
took advantage of the pause in her pathetic appeal to re- 
assure her. “ Leila,” said I, ‘judge me not from this cold 
habit that t wear about me ; it belongs to my race; but judge 
me by the heart that beats under it. And by its strong 
pulsations, by my faith, and by my hopes, I swear to you that 
I will be your friend henceforth. For your own sake com- 
pose yourself. Nay, you must be calm and tell me how my 
friendship can best serve you. Surely you forgot your father 
when you declared yourself friendless.” 

“ My father !” said Leila, mournfully, resuming her seat as 
she spoke, and burying her face in her hands : “Alas, I am 


152 


SAINT LEGER. 


doubly wretched, doubly sinful, in having a parent whom I 
can not love, and who loves not me.” 

I shrunk at such an avowal from one so young and 
so beautiful. The words of scripture, “without natural 
affection,” rose to my lips, but I repressed them. Leila per- 
ceived that I was shocked, and said : 

“ Do not in your mind accuse me unjustly. When I speak 
thus of my father, I am unburthening the load that weighs 
heaviest at my heart. To him I owe everything that can min- 
ister to my personal comfort. I know not what it is to have 
a want ungratified. To him honor and obedience are due ; 
but if you knew my history — and you shall know it ere long — 
you would not judge me harshly for not adding, love.” 

“I will not judge at all, till I do know,” said I ; “but your 
mother — is she not living?” 

“ May Heaven forgive you for mentioning the name,” ex- 
claimed Leila, relapsing into her former emotion ; “ mother, 
mother — I know not if I had a mother. Strange surmises 
crowd upon me ; dreadful illusions pass before me ; horrible 
suspicions force themselves upon me, at that word — mother! 
Never have I beheld a mother^s face, never experienced a 
mother’s love ; and now I would barter for a mother’s smile 
all that I hold dear in life, even though the lips that smiled 
upon me were guilty and polluted.” 

I saw that I had innocently touched upon a delicate topic, 
and, fearing the effects of further excitement, I attempted to 
calm her by assurances of sympathy and friendship. Expect- 
ing an interruption every moment from the father, I asked 
Leila when we should meet again. “ I fear we shall not meet 
here again,” said she ; “my father is strange, very strange ; 
it is owing solely to his illness that we are now so long togeth- 
er. No, not here. Yet, remember, we shall meet. I leave 
this gloomy island ere the moon wanes. Then you shall hear 


SAINT LEGER. 


153 


from me : only let me feel that there is one solitary being in 
the wide world who will sympathize with me, and I will be 
grateful. I ask no more.” 

An old female at this moment made her appearance at a 
side door, and beckoned hurriedly to Leila, who quickly 
obeyed the summons without bidding me adieu, and the door 
closed upon both. 


XXXVI. 

At the same instant, another door opened from the adjoin- 
ing room, and the Woedallah entered the apartment. 

His aspect was so completely changed that I scarcely rec- 
ognised him. His countenance bore marks of extreme physi- 
cal as well as mental suffering. He looked ten years older 
than on the preceding day. Advancing slowly toward me, 
he took my hand, and in a kind but saddened tone asked me 
how I was. I was touched by his manner, and in turn in- 
quired as to his indisposition. It was nothing, he replied, but 
the effect of heavy heart-pains which occasionally afflicted 
him, and which were past cure. As he said this, he sighed 
deeply, and inquired if I would take a turn with him into the 
frosh air. He put his arm within mine, and we left the 
dwelling. 

Passing out, we walked some distance along the coast, un- 
til it began to rise to a precipitous height. Here my kinsman 
stopped. The swell from the sea, under the influence of a 
strong west wind, was tremendous. The waves mounting on 
high dashed furiously against the cliffs, and then retreating, 
as if to renew their strength, returned again, and were again 
tlirown back into their ocean-bed. We stood for some mo- 
ments contemplating the grandeur of the scene. At length, 
my companion spoke : 


154 


SAINT LEGER. 


“My son, look around you and behold this isolated spot. 
Who should have thought that busy man would come hither 
to make it his own? Yet here Virtue may dwell secure and 
uncontaminated, for here is no place for the pomp and cir- 
cumstance of this world to triumph. But look away, yonder, 
far — far away: nay, you see knot, save with the mind’s eye: 
behold, crowded together the habitations of the children of 
men. See the buildings, closely joined, as if all lived under 
a single roof Must not peace, and brotherly love, and happi- 
ness, dwell there ? Surely there can be no discords, no dis- 
sensions, no conflicting interests. Is it possible that those 
strong walls between each dwelling separate the bitterest 
enemies, divide the good man from the assassin, the innocent 
from the vile, the honest from the knave ? Men herd togeth- 
er for mutual concealment, and not for good. Those cities 
of the plain, mark me, shall be destroyed, and fire from the 
Lord out of heaven shall fall upon them, as it fell upon Sod- 
om and Gomorrah. But let us turn from the contemplation 
of so revolting a picture. Let me speak something of myself 
and you. Canst tell the relation we bear to each other V* 

I replied that I could not. 

“Then know,” continued my kinsman, “that I am the son 
of Wilfred Saint Leger — of Wilfred the rash, Wilfred the 
unfortunate ; a younger brother, as you doubtless have heard, 
of Hugh Saint Leger, the lion-hearted, your father’s father. 
William Henry, I am calm now,” continued he, for the first 
time calling me by name. “ I fear the unhappy effect of our 
last interview upon your mind, and I would do what I may 
to counteract it. As I said before, I have dreadful heart- 
pains which unman me. For what I say when suffering un- 
der this terrible affliction, I am not, I can not be, accountable. 
You carry truth within your bosom ; your sentiments I honor ; 
I bow to them ; would that I could make them mine. But it 


SAINT LEGER. 


155 


is too late. Do not speak to me on tliis head. I will not 
hear you.” 

“But will you not,” said I, deeply interested, “tell me why 
you are here, and explain to me the strange selection you 
have made for a home ]” 

“Home,” said the other; “home: my home is there,” 
pointing into the abyss of waters which foamed beneath us ; 
“for no mortal shall ever tread upon my grave, nor shall any 
monument stand up to say, ‘ This man once lived upon the 
earth.’ But you shall be satisfied. Sit we down upon these 
rough stones ; turn your face away from mine, and I will 
briefly sketch my life.” 

I did as directed. 


XXXVII. 

“You doubtless have heard how Wilfred Saint Leger, my 
father, in company with Julian Moncrieff of Glencoe, made 
their way to Paris with the fair Isabella Seward, a rich heir- 
ess, and a ward of the Earl of Venachoir; how Wilfred Saint 
Leger wedded the young girl, and how they lived happily 
together ; how in some three years the lovely lady grew pale, 
saddened, and died, leaving one child, a boy — myself. I have 
no recollection of my mother ; sometimes I fancy I can recall 
her sweet, pale face, as she pressed me to her bosom, and, 
weeping, commended her infant to God. It was a sin to leave 
a guardian’s roof and elope as she did ; but how sorely was 
she punished, and how surely. Thank God, she died. Yes, 
died, instead of carrying the crushing weight of a br oken 
heart and an agonized spirit through a long lifetime. My 
father was always a slave to the gayeties of Paris. From my 
boyhood, on the contrary, I detested them. I longed to get 
upon English ground. I determined never to adopt any oth- 


156 


SAINT LEGER. 


er country for my own. At the age of ten, my father, more 
to avoid the restraint which a boy’s observation would natu- 
rally cause upon such a parent, sent me to England to his 
brother, Hugh Saint Leger, your grandfather, having previ- 
ously got the consent of my uncle that he would take charge 
of me. I spent in England the only happy days of my life. 
Your noble father was about my own age : we rode, we hunt- 
ed, we read, and we studied, together. How I loved him then, 
and if my heart were not stone, how I should love him now ! 
For seven long (to children all years are long) happy years 
was England my home. Of these, three were spent at Eton, 
and one at Oxford. Previously to that time, we were attend- 
ed by private masters at Bertold Castle. Through the whole 
your father was my constant playmate and companion ; and 
never were there any serious differences between us. I con- 
sidered myself permanently located in England. From my 
father I heard three or four times a year ; his letters gener- 
ally contained some half-dozen lines, expressing his approba- 
tion of the course I was pursuing under my uncle’s direction, 
with some commonplace remarks about duty, and the like. 
His remittances were always made punctually, and I soon re- 
garded one epistle but as the facsimile of another 

“ I had been at Oxford a year. I was ambitious as a stu- 
dent, without being a bo ok- worm, and I began to feel that I 
had laid a foundation which should lead to an honorable distinc- 
tion among my fellows. My habits were good, and much did I 
owe to your father’s influence that they were so. Still, there 
was that about me of which I trembled thoughtfully to consider. 
There was a latent desire to enjoy the pleasures of life, and to 
taste its follies. The Untried was constantly before me with 
its temptations, but I resisted them all ; yet I felt how neces- 
sary it was for me to keep as far as possible from their reach. 
Just then — mark me, for the deyil’^ hand was in it — just then 


SAINT LEGER. 


157 


I received a letter from my father, written in haste, command- 
ing me to come immediately to Paris. I cannot describe my 
feelings at this unexpected summons. For a time I was 
completely beside myself. I raved, swore, and cursed my 
destiny ; nay, I fear I cursed my parent. At length I became 
calm. I sat down and wrote him a long letter, stating my 
situation, what I had accomplished, what I hoped to accom- 
plish ; and begged him to allow me to remain in England. I 
received in return a short, decisive note. He said the most 
urgent reasons had influenced his decision ; that it was unal- 
terable, and that he was already suffering through my delay. 
1 left Oxford at once for Bertold Castle, and asked my un- 
cle’s advice. His view of the relation of parent and child 
was severe. He regretted my father’s decision, but advised 
me to bow to it ; perhaps it might be in my power speedily 
to return. Much more he said, which I need not repeat; and 
at length I was persuaded. 

‘‘ I left for Paris. Arrived there, I drove to my father’s ho- 
tel in the rue Montmartre, and found it closed. A sickening 
apprehension came over me as I leaned against the ponderous 
gate which commanded the entrance to the courtyard. Not 
even the portier, who remains a fixture on the premises, was 
in his accustomed place to answer questions, and the door of 
the concicrgerie was shut and fastened. I knew not what to 
do. My mind was sorely perplexed. As I looked up at the 
high walls of the gloomy building, rendered more gloomy 
by being tenantless, I felt that I was indeed a stranger in a 
strange land. 

“I had nothing to do but to drive to some proper place for 
lodgings, and find my father as I best might. I was about 
giving the necessary directions, when an old fellow with a 
patch on his eye hobbled up to me, and prayed that I would, 


158 


SAINT LEGER. 


for the love of God, read a dirty paper which he thrust into 
my hands. I opened it and read as follows : 

“ ‘ This evening., at eight o^clocJc, Rue Gopeau, No. 4, unac- 
companied. W. St. L.’ 

“ ‘There is a franc for you,' my poor fellow,’ said I, and 
without stopping longer, I drove to the rue Vivienne to find 
lodgings. Surmises were useless. I waited patiently until 
after seven, when I set out on foot, to elude observation, for 
the rue Copeau. This is a short street far off on the other 
side of the Seine, leading into the Garden of Plants. I 
passed slowly into the rue St. Honore, and followed it 
through its whole extent into the rue St. Denis ; down that 
to the Seine, thence along the Quai till I reached the Isle 
St. Louis, where I crossed ; thence along the Q,uai again to 
the rue de Seine, and up that to the rue Copeau. Do you 
w^onder at this minuteness of detail ? I tell you that every 
step of that walk is as fresh to me now as on the day it was 
taken. I remember the faces of hundreds who passed me ; I 
see them now before me. There was a little old man with a 
long cue extending half-way down his back, whom I thought- 
lessly jostled as I passed, and who at once turned and begged 
my pardon. There were pretty giisettes, who stared at me 
with naive wonder as I pushed unheedingly on ; there were 
old women on the Quai ; there were soldiers about the gar- 
dens ; there, there are they all— 7 and hark : just as I reached 
the appointed number in the appointed street, the chimes 
from the nunnery of the Sisters of Universal Concord, situ- 
ated just in the rear, pealed merrily the hour of eight.” 

Here my relative paused for several minutes. I turned 
partly round, alarmed at his silence. Large drops of sweat 
were standing on his forehead ; his whole appearance was 
that of one in mortal agony. Shortly, however, he resumed. 


SAINT LEGER. 


159 


XXXVIII. 

“ Ding-dong ! — one, two ; ding-dong ! — three, four; ding- 
dong I — five, six; ding-dong! — seven, eight. Yes, eight 
was the hour. And there I stood before a massive, gloomy- 
old building, which presented a most forbidding aspect. 
There was not the slightest sign of its being inhabited. Not 
a solitary light gleamed from any one of the numerous apart- 
ments. It bore the appearance of desertion and decay. The 
entrance to the court-yard was open, but no porter was in 
attendance in the lodge ; though I could read by the uncertain 
glimmering of a lamp suspended across the sti’eet the half- 
effaced words Parlez au concierge. I had stood but a moment, 
anxiously scrutinizing everything within my observation, when 
a figure, muffled in a large cloak, approached from the court, 
came hastily up and exclaimed : 

“ ‘ You are punctual — come with me.’ 

“ I followed my conductor across the court, up two flights 
of stairs and through several narrow passages and corridors, 
first turning one way, then another, till I was bewildered. 
The house was unfurnished so far as I could perceive, and 
the air was close and noisome. My companion at last stop- 
ped before a door, which he opened, and ushered me into a 
room of moderate size, but exquisitely furnished. It was 
also brilliantlv lighted. A small table of beautiful workman- 
ship stood in the centre, upon which was laid a choice sup- 
per, flanked by wines of every variety and flavor. A cheer- 
ful fire of large logs blazed in the fireplace, for the evening 
was cool, and everything gave taken of good taste in the oc- 
cupant and abundant means to improve it. 

‘‘‘VT^elcome, welcome, my son;’ exclaimed my father, 


160 


SAINT LEGER. 


throwing off his disguise and warmly embracing me ; ‘ and 
may God bless you for obeying the summons, though I feared 
it was too late. Why, Wilfred, you have grown up to be a 
man almost. Yet I should have known my child among a 
thousand.’ 

“ I was struck with the affectionate and subdued tone of 
my parent. The seven years which had made so great an 
alteration in me had scarcely changed him, as he was in the 
prime of manhood, and had not begun the melancholy descent 
upon the other side of the scale of life. Yet there was a se- 
riousness in his aspect, a something terribly calm in his 
countenance, quite unlike my father, which filled with me ap- 
prehension. 

“ ‘ Come, come,’ continued he, ‘ you must be faint and 
weary; sit down. You see I have been expecting you. We 
have much to do to-night ; so fortify yourself with a hearty 
supper.’ 

“We sat down together. My father made a show of join- 
ing me, but only, as I believe, to persuade me to eat free- 
ly. It must be a serious matter which shall prevent a youth 
of seventeen, after a day’s exercise and abstinence, from do- 
ing justice to an alluring table. The healthful calls of hunger 
are rarely disregarded by the young. God forgive me the 
satisfaction I took that evening at that table. As soon as I 
had finished, my father bade me sit near him. 

“ ‘ Wilfred,’ said he, ‘ would that I might now bid you to 
seek repose ; but time presses, and the case is urgent. Can 
you listen to me?’ 

“ I trembled, I know not why, but I answered unhesitating- 
ly that I could. 

‘“It is well,’ he continued; ‘you are in time. Had you 
delayed another day, you might have found no one to call 
father.* 


SAINT LEGER. 


161 


I begged an explanation. ‘ Listen then,’ was the reply, 

* and mark my words. You remember, or at least you have 
heard of, Julian Moncrieff f I assented. ‘ Julian Moncrieff, 
whose fate has been linked with mine for the last twenty 
years. To-morrow morning, when the sun shall redden the 
towers of Notre-Dame, it will shine insensibly to one of us I’ 

“‘For Heaven’s sake, what mean you V I exclaimed. 

“ ‘ Silence !’ continued my parent, ‘ and do not interrupt me. 
Twenty years ago this night, Julian Moncrieff, with your 
father and his young and beautiful bride — thy mother, thy 
injured mother, boy — arrived here in this accursed city; 
came here to this very mansion ; entered here into this very 
room. See you that couch ? On it she reclined — the love- 
ly, the confiding, the virtuous. There she sat, and smiled, 
and loved, and smiled again. Wilfred, my boy, if I could con- 
trol everything which is held enviable and precious on this 
round earth and in heaven above, and could add to it the 
price of my soul’s salvation, I would give all, all, all, to re- 
call that scene once more, and see my Isabella for one brief 
moment, as I saw her then, and hear once, but once again, 
the sound of her sweet, dear voice. But she is gone — lost 
to me for ever. Have not years passed me since then? 
No ; else I had not this fresh grief. When have I grieved 
before? Do not people lose their wives? Is it then so 
dreadful? Tell me, Wilfred, that there is yet hope!’ 

“ I saw that my father’s brain was wandering, but I knew 
not what to reply. 

“ ‘ Wretch that I am,’ he went on without waiting for an 
answer ; ‘ the bitterness of this moment is more than I can 
bear.’ He continued more calmly : ‘ This now gloomy man- 
sion we selected because there belonged to it a large and 
delightful garden, and because it was quiet and secluded. A 
brief year we made this our home. With my young wife’s 

n 


162 


SAINT LEGER. 


fortune added to my own, we were rich — for Paris, very 
rich. We took another hotel in the rue Montmartre, where we 
entertained our visiters and gave fetes and parties. But here 
were we most happy, because we lived most within ourselves. 
I have not time, I have not resolution, to tell my history. 
You will find whatever I have thought necessary to reveal 
among my papers. Search for nothing which you find not 
there,’ pointing to a small box; ‘everything else has been 
destroyed. You know that your mother sickened, and then 
she — yes, she — died. True she died, Wilfred ! but not here. 
No, no; not — here. She was happy here — she was happy 
here ! Well, I was a lost being, and I gave myself up to sin, 
— utterly gave myself to it. 

“ ‘ This same Julian Moncrieff — he, my companion in in- 
iquity, my sworn confederate and ally, between whom and 
myself tliere is an oath which neither dare break — this same 
Julian Moncrieff has cause for deadly quarrel with me ; long 
has had cause. Ask no more. Everything is arranged ; to- 
morrow morning at break of day we meet in yonder garden, 
near my Isabella’s bower. The place I selected, for there I 
will yield myself up a sacrifice. After so many years of 
criminal neglect, her memory shall be honored. We meet 
to-morrow — our weapons the rapier — the combat to cease 
only with the death of one of us — and I am that one.’ 

“ ‘ Never,’ exclaimed I, starting up, ‘never shall so barbar- 
ous a conflict take place. I have heard enough ; I am a boy 
no longer. If I have not the power to stop it, I will apply to 
the authorities; I will go to the police. Father, father, I 
implore you recall your senses. Speak to me rationally, and 
not with such portentous calmness.’ 

“ ‘ Wilfred,’ said my parent, ‘ sit down and be calm your- 
self. You can not prevent this meeting, for I have deter- 
mined that it SHALL take place. You are too young to un- 


SAINT LEGER. 


163 


derstand me. God grant that you may never do so by ex- 
perience. I am not a lunatic, nor have I lost my senses. But 
one thing I say — and think not, my boy, that I am lost to pa- 
rental feeling. No, my son ; had it been so, I should not have 
sent for you that I might once more behold my own flesh and 
■blood — once more look upon her child. But this I say, that 
I will not live longer on the earth ; and I prefer rather to fall 
by the hand of an antagonist than by my own ; and most of all 
would I choose to fall by the hand of Julian Moncrieff.’ 

“ Wliat could I say; what could I do Was I unmanly 
or pusillanimous in yielding to my father 1 Ought I to have 
resisted at all hazards ? You would think so, doubtless ; yet 
it seemed as if the avenging angel stood before me, frowning, 
as he uttered the word ‘ Forbear !’ I was silent. 

“ ‘ Now, my son, to business,’ continued my father, calmly, 
at the same time opening a large case of papers. ‘ I must 
give you such information as will enable you to act under- 
standingly.’ 

“ He proceeded to give me a detail of all his estate, with 
the most minute particulars ; directing me whose advice to 
take in Paris, what to do under this and that state of things, 
and so forth. The bulk of his and of my mother’s fortune, 
was in England and Scotland ; but a very considerable sum 
had been invested in French securities, in the name of his 
friend and solicitor. Monsieur Coulanges. I was informed 
that every precaution had been taken, so that the cause of his 
decease should not be known, and that the funeral was ar- 
ranged to take place on the second day after the combat. 
My father made me promise sacredly that I would not attempt 
to revenge his death, or harbor malice against his foe. 

“ It seemed my father’s desire to prolong the interview till 
daybreak. This was a relief to me. I should not have dared 
to retire to rest. I might have been overpowered by fatigue 
and slumbered. My father would not have called me, and I 


164 


SAINT LEGER. 


should have waked and not found him. I sat the whole night 
giving a horribly calm attention to all that was said to me. 
At length gray streaks began to light up the sky, until it was 
apparent day. Presently the step of some one in the passage- 
way was heard. 

“ ‘ It is time said my father, quickly. ‘ Wilfred, my son, 
remember what I have told you. And now, farewell.’ 

“ He took me in his arms and kissed me many times with 
great fondness. I was unmanned ; I wept like a child. My 
father stood calm. 

“ ‘ This is not right, my son. This is not like a Saint Leger.’ 

“As soon as I could speak, I entreated my father to allow 
me to accompany him. He hesitated a moment. 

“ ‘ Will you promise to be composed V said he. 

“ I bowed my head. 

“‘It is best so,’ he added; ‘the sacrifice should be in 
your presence. Once more, farewell.’ 

“ He then took two rapiers from a side-table, and go- 
ing to the couch, he knelt before it, and drew a miniature 
from his bosom. 

“ ‘ Here, here,’ he murmured, ‘ my sainted wife, do I expi- 
ate my sins against you. At last, ah ! at last, I see you as of 
yore — at last we are reunited.’ 

“ He rose, beckoned me to follow, and left the room. We 
proceeded from one passage-way to another, down several 
flights of stairs, to the garden. I had no time to look about 
me, but followed close after my father into a secluded part of 
the grounds, until we came to a beautiful bower, the entrance 
of which was entirely overgrown with vines and evergreens. 
I could discern the figure of a man pacing impatiently up 
and down the walk. This figure attracted my whole atten- 
tion, for I knew it was J ulian Moncrieff. As we came up he 
started on seeing me, made a slight inclination to my father, 
and hastily exclaimed : 


SAINT LEGER. 


165 


“ * How is this % There were to be no witnesses.’ 

“ ‘ There are none,’ said my father ; ‘ this is my son ; he 
understands our arrangement. He desires to be present, and 
I have consented.’ 

“ ‘ It shall not be said the other, hastily. 

“ * Nay, but it shall V replied my father ; ‘ if you wish ; go 
summon your daughter; it will delay us but a moment, and 
then both will be represented.’ 

‘ Have it as you will,’ said Moncrieff ; ‘ we are losing time.’ 

“ I had during this short conversation an opportunity to 
examine my father’s opponent. I had seen him often when 
a boy, and I knew his character. He was tall, well made, 
and in one way handsome ; but there was an evil expression 
about his countenance which experience and intercourse with 
the world seemed to have increased rather than diminished. 
I looked upon him and trembled. He also brought two ra- 
piers, one of which was laid aside, and the parties, without 
exchanging another word, advanced toward each other. You 
are aware that the Saint Legers were always accomplished 
swordsmen and masters of fence. The sword-play is, and 
ever has been, a favorite pastime of the race. In point of 
skill I had not the slightest fear for my father ; but his ex- 
press determination to fall in the encounter struck me with 
horror. As the two became engaged in the combat I almost 
lost sight of the fearful result in admiration of the skill dis- 
played by both combatants. Do you wonder at this ?” said 
the Wcedallah, turning partly toward me ; “ you need not, 
for the mind of man is strangely constituted. I soon discov- 
ered my father’s superiority over his antagonist, and hope re- 
vived in my heart, and I began to trust that all would yet end 
well. It did not occur to me that, in case Julian Moncrieff should 
fall, his young daughter would be left without parent or pro- 
tector. Well, the conflict went on. My father was calm and 


166 


SAINT LEGER. 


unruffled ; MoucriefF, on the contrary, began to lose temper. 
This increased my father’s advantage, but he evidently avoid- 
ed availing himself of it. Once or twice, when MoncriefF 
rashly exposed his points, my father would coolly remind him 
of it by a slight touch, but nothing more. This added to his 
impatience, and he used his weapon with a desperate rash- 
ness. I could see my father smile calmly as he managed with 
most admirable skill every stroke of his opponent, entering 
in spite of himself into the spirit of the combat. Suddenly 
his countenance changed ; it assumed a deadly, fearful, fatal 
expression. As he turned aside one of MoncriefF’s thrusts, 
he suddenly struck at the left arm of the latter. The stroke 
told, for the red blood followed swiftly from the wound. 
Smarting with pain, MoncriefF made a furious lunge at my 
father’s breast. It was a stroke most easily parried, and 
when parried, would unavoidably expose the party to a fatal 
charge in return. What was my horror on seeing my father, 
instead of taking so open an advantage, deliberately throw 
his arms up and receive his enemy’s sword through his body. 
He fell prostrate to the earth, directly in front of the bower 
of his ill-fated Isabella. I rushed forward, knelt by his side, 
and endeavored to stanch the fatal wound. MoncriefF was in 
a frenzy. 

“ ‘ Oh, God,’ he cried, ‘ what have I done !’ 

“ He approached to bend over the prostrate body. I re- 
pulsed him rudely. 

“‘Wretch!’ I exclaimed, ‘dare not to come near him 
you have so foully murdered ; if you attempt it, you will find 
a Saint Leger, who not only knows his weapon, but has the 
disposition to use it.’ 

“ ‘ Young man,’ said MoncriefF, in a subdued tone, ‘ I blame 
not your passionate feelings, but I pray you quiet them. In 
the name of your dying parent I adjure you to be calm, and 


SAINT LEGER. 


167 


allow me to assist you. See,’ he continued, eagerly, ‘ he still 
lives’ (my father groaned) ; ‘ let us haste to do something. The 
wound may not be mortal.’ 

“I resisted no longer, and with the aid of Moncrieff conveyed 
my father to the apartment we had left but a few moments 
previous, and laid him upon the couch at which he knelt be- 
fore going to the combat. Moncrieff proceeded to examine 
the wound with the skill of an experienced surgeon, and with 
all a woman’s gentleness ; but he soon shook his head de- 
spairingly. My father had swooned without uttering a word ; 
still we knew that life was not extinct. After I had administered 
a stimulant with my own hands, he faintly opened his eyes ; 
and although he looked upon no one, I am confident he knew 
where he was. He spoke not, save in broken whispers ; and 
as I knelt to catch their meaning, I could only hear faintly 
articulated: ^ My precious wife — my Isabella — receive the 
sacrificed 

“ My father survived not quite an hour. All of the time he 
ay nearly insensible, feebly holding my hand in his, and oc- 
casionally giving it a slight pressure. Suddenly he started 
convulsively — his lips moved; I strained every sense to catch 
what he said. ‘ My Isabella^ come nearer — lam happy nowd 
were the words that died away upon his lips as the spirit 
parted from the body.’* 

Again the Woedallah paused. I dared not trust myself to 
look toward him, but waited until he should proceed. 

XXXIX. 

“ Three months after, I awoke in a sick-room. At last my 
brain was clear and sensible. Of nothing was I conscious 
during that time save that I was in friendly hands. I remem- 
ber that there was a stillness and a silence that wearied me ; 


168 


SAINT LEGER. 


relieved occasionally by noiseless steps and low whispers, but 
yet dreadfully oppressive. I was reduced to the lowest point, 
still 1 lived. My mind, under the strong and conflicting ex- 
citements which had been brought to bear upon it, had yielded 
to their force ; fever ensued; then delirium — then convales- 
cence. 

“ I recovered. Would not my first steps be directed to 
England, eagerly, rapidly directed thither, to escape from the 
country which had proved the ruin of my sire 1 One would 
naturally suppose so ; yet delay succeeded delay. I was still 
in Paris. I had first to see Monsieur Coulanges. That cer- 
tainly was necessary ; then the friends of my father called to 
offer their condolences (for all supposed he had died a natural 
death) and invited me to visit them in proper time. Although 
you would hardly suppose an Englishman could find much 
favor at such a time in France, when all Europe was con- 
vulsed with wars in which France and England were enemies, 
still you must remember that intrigue was the great weapon 
of the day ; that I was born in France, and had powerful 
friends in Scotland, many of whom kept up a constant corres- 
pondence with the French court. I was admitted there with- 
out suspicion ; and — shall I say it — after a short time aban- 
doned myself entirely to its influence. Need I tell you how, 
when I say it was at the profligate court of Louis XV., with 
youth and wealth, and the advantage of a fair exterior ? So 
it was that I did evil in the sight of the Lord, even as my 
father had done. Oh, what abyss so deep that it can over- 
whelm the ministers of damnation who waited on that court ! 
Yet the fortune of the young Saint Leger was envied, and he 
was pronounced the most happy of mortals. But what a hell 
reigned in my bosom. Ten thousand avenging furies were 
shrieking hourly in my ears, still I went on, went on my jour- 
ney to the deep perdition of the damned. I had become a 


8AINT LEGER. 


169 


wretched voluptuary; and Pleasure, which retired farther 
and farther in the distance as I wooed her most, began to pall 
upon the senses. 

“ I was at a masked ball given by the Duchess of . I 

had no less than six appointments there, and how to manage 
them, tasked my skill to the utmost. It was in the midst of 
the revel that a tall female figure in a plain mask approached 
me, and with a commanding air beckoned me to go with her. 
As adventures of this sort were by no means uncommon, I 
followed the retreating form of the lady out of the magnificent 
saloTiy through one apartment after another, till we arrived at 
a small door, to which my guide applied a key and we en- 
tered. 

“ I found myself — not, as I anticipated, in an exquisite 
boudoir, fragrant with flowers and perfumes, to add to the 
voluptuousness of the scene — but, in a small, gloomy, narrow 
room, without a single article of furniture, and with only one 
faint light glimmering on the mantel. I gave a hasty glance 
over this place of ill-omen. I thought I was betrayed by the 
intrigue of a rival ; but fear is not the foible of the Saint Le- 
gers. I was armed, and the struggle for life would be despe- 
rate. While these thoughts were passing through my mind, 
the lady had advanced into the middle of the room, after bolt- 
ing the door, and stood regarding me in silence. 

“ ‘ This is not exactly what you expected,^ said the Un- 
known, addressing me in pure English. ‘Not quite so allur- 
ing as an interview with the Comptesse , to which at this 

hour you were invited.’ 

“ I made no reply to the announcement of a secret known, 
as I supposed, only to the two interested ; but simply asked, 
in a quiet nonchalant way : 

“ ‘Pray, what is your wish?’ 

« ‘ Nay,’ said the mask, in an angry impatient tone, ‘ ask me 


170 


SAINT LEGER. 


not what is my wish^ but what is my will, for, by Heaven, it 
shall be obeyed. I have brought thee hither to hear my com- 
mands, thou renegade Englishman — thou shame of a manly 
house. Thou a Saint Leger ! Gro, take the name of one of 
the strange women who make you their slave ; follow on your 
path even as the ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the 
correction of the stocks ; go now to their bed which is decked 
with coverings of tapestry, with carved works and fine linen 
of Egypt, and perfumed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon, 
and take your fill of love until the morning ; but by the Su- 
preme Power above, if you do this, and dare again to call 
yourself a Saint Leger, I will plunge this dagger into your 
heart!’ 

So saying, the mask half unsheathed a small poniard which 
she wore at her belt, and went on before I had time to speak : 

“You have still another course left. Leave this place of 
abominations before the iniquity of the Ammonites is yet full. 
The days of the Jezebels and the Athaliahs and the Delilahs 
are numbered. In the portion of Jezreel shall dogs eat their 
flesh. Return to England ; go where you will ; stay here if 
you have strength to do it ; but I warn you, forget not again 
that you are a Saint Leger. Sell not your manhood at this 
debauched and infamous court : if you disobey,’ again touch- 
ing the dagger, ‘ you know the penalty.’ 

“ The rebuke which these words conveyed, its truth — severe 
though it was — rendered me for a moment incapable of speak- 
ing. I stood discovered, stripped of the miserable dross and 
tinsel of unhallowed pleasure, in all the ugly and rude deform- 
ity of detec :ed guilt. Yes, I stood 

“‘And felt how awful goodness is; and saw 

Virtue, in her shape how lovely ! saw, and pined 
His loss.’ 

I felt piqued, nevertheless, at the threat of the Unknovni ; 


SAINT LEGER. 


171 


for man will often listen to persuasion, when he will not be 
moved by force ; and the idea of abandoning even a course of 
sin, through fear of my life, struck at my pride. I wished 
from my heart that such an argument had been omitted. 

‘ Have you nothing to say V continued the mask, impa- 
tiently, as I was hesitating what to reply. 

“‘Nothing,’ said I, coldly, ‘to one who under a disguise 
seeks to frighten me into measures which a sense of right 
alone can make effectual or sincere.’ 

“ ‘ Spoken like a man, indeed !’ said the figure, removing 
her mask, and disclosing the clear, penetrating gray eyes, the 
lofty brow and the haughty mien of the Lady Alice Saint 
Leger. ‘ Kinsman,’ said she, ‘ I have come to save you from 
shame and ruin. I did not suppose threats would accomplish 
this ; but I wished to show my determination to preserve our 
name from further disgrace. Let,’ she continued reverently, 
‘ the dead rest in peace ; with the living there is hope. I 
come not to reproach or to direct, but solemnly to warn.’ 

“ ‘ The warning shall be heeded,’ said I, emphatically, 
‘ and ’ 

“ ‘ Enough,’ said the Lady Alice, with dignity ; ‘ 1 believe 
you.’ She replaced her mask, and notwithstanding my en- 
treaties that she would remain a few moments, unbolted the 
door and disappeared. Scarcely sensible whether this was 
not all a dream, I proceeded to find my way out. The thought 
of returning to the gay scene I had so lately left, filled me 
with disgust. I discovered a private entrance into the court- 
yard, and throwing myself into a carriage, was conveyed to 
my hotel. I went home a repentant man. 


172 


SAINT LEGER. 


XL. 

“ The morning after the first commission of a sin, or after 
the first resolution to reform, is generally remarkable for se- 
vere struggles with one^s-self; and I had no small share of 
these. I rose as from a fearful dream. I was not certain that 
what I remembered of the previous evening was not an il- 
lusion. By degrees it all came back to me with distinctness. 
I summoned my valet ; he brought me a score of perfumed 
billets-doux, done up in exquisite taste. The moment had 
arrived which should decide my fate : my hand was on the 
seal of one which I knew to be from the comptesse. 1 hesi- 
tated : I called for a taper. If I opened the billets, I was 
lost — and 1 knew it. One by one I took them up and delib- 
erately held each over the taper until it was consumed. 
Somehow, although that of the comptesse was first in my 
hand it still remained there when all the rest were destroyed. 
‘ Surely,^ said the Tempter, ‘ there can be no harm in opening 
this one — this last one, as I hare resolved not to answer it. 
It was too late : by a tremendous effort I brought the doomed 
thing across the flame. It turned and twisted into a thousand 
contortions as if determined to escape. As the heat caused 
the leaves to open, it gave a vividness to the delicately-traced 
lines, and I could distinctly read expressions of tender re- 
proach. I turned away my head, by a sort of nightmare ef- 
fort, but held the billet steadily in the flame, nor did I move, 
nor scarcely breathe, till the subtle element, creeping to my 
fingers, as if for a further sacrifice, told me it was all over ; I 
was saved. I started up and ordered horses for Bloissy. 
This is a small and beautiful chateau, about twenty leagues 


SAINT LEGER. 


173 


from Paris, which my father had occupied, though he rarely 
resorted to it. Once I had been at the chateau since his de- 
cease, to find some papers which were deposited there. Re- 
port, I knew, had said the place was procured by my father 
to be a retreat for his young wife, too far from Paris for ru- 
mors of his infidelity ever to reach her. It was a pitiable de- 
vice ; as if a husband’s dereliction can be long concealed from 
the trusting heart which has yielded all to him. Well, at 
night I arrived at this retired spot. How happy I was ; the 
battle had been fiDught, and a glorious victory obtained over 
myself. I determined upon a course of self-examination. I 
took possession of the chamber which had been my mother’s; 
I invoked her presence to enable me to preserve my purpose. 
I prayed to God — I could pray then — to give me strength. 
I have told you that my father destroyed all his private pa- 
pers. In searching, however, an old bureau, in my mother’s 
room, I found at the end of a drawer one of her letters to him. 
It was written during the second year of her marriage, and, 
I presume, on the occasion of their first separation, when my 
father, representing that his affairs called him to Paris, and 
would detain him there a considerable time, forgot her and 
left her alone in that sad solitude. She was still trustful and 
unsuspicious. Here is the letter,” continued the Woedallah, 
holding it out to me. I took it from his hands. It was writ- 
ten in a delicate hand, and blurred and blotted, apparently 
by tears; “ Precious signs,” the Woedallah continued, “of my 
wretched father’s repentance.” I begged the Woedallah to 
allow me to take the letter that I might again peruse it, and 
as it may lend an interest to the narrative, I give some extracts 
from it : 

Wednesday Morning. 

“ Dear, dear Wilfred : I can not realize that you are 
gone, and to slay from me so long ; but oh ! my heart wants 


174 


SAINT LEGER. 


something in your absence ; nay, it wants you, my Wilfred, 
at this moment to he at my side ; to clasp your arm around 
me and kiss me, and tell me over and over again that you 
love me. Do you miss your poor Belle, even now, dear hus- 
band, and are you almost tempted to tuiii back and bring her 
with you ] How dependent upon you I have been since we 
were married ; but I must rely upon myself now ; and it is 
well : I feel that it is for our good that we are parted, and 
this reconciles me.” .... 

Oh, gentle, loving, trustful wife ! Oh, base, perfidious, 
deceitful husband. But she writes on : 

Do you know, deai'est Wilfred, that I feel more like stay- 
ing here, quietly thinking of you, than mingling in the gaye- 
ties of Paris ? Somehow, 1 can not feel that I am a mother 
in yon strange city ; and shall I confess it, dear, dear Wilfred, 
I have almost thought that you did not love your Isabella so 
much when surrounded by its attractions. Now, dearest, for- 
give me, for you know that I do not believe this ; the whole 
wide world could not make me believe it ; only 1 love to 
have you reassure me, Wilfred, and then — how confident I 
grow again ! 

“ Six o' dock, — My precious love, I am home-sick to see 
you. The day has been lovely thus far, but now it rains. 
All nature is so beautiful about me that I can not but be 
cheerful ; and yet methinks this very loveliness of scenery, 
which so cheers us in bright daylight, lends a saddening in- 
fluence in sweet melancholy twilight ; sweet when we are to- 
gether, dearest ; melancholy when we are parted. 

“My chief solace is our dear babe ; all is new to him here, 
and he looks at everything with gi*eat surprised eyes, won- 
dering what it means. He has just gone to his rosy rest. 
Heaven make his slumbers peaceful ; for troubled waters 
sweep even over the bosom of infancy. 


SAINT LEGER. 


17 


Eleven 6* clock . — I am going now, my dear husband, to 
my solitary bed. I have been talking this evening with old 
Hannah. She has entertained me by telling me of your 
childhood, I culled a fresh bouquet of roses for my table 
this morning, but an instinct of love led me to preserve in 
my chamber those we gathered yesterday. Where is the 
rose I gave you % And now love, my precious love, with a 
sweet, sweet kiss — good night ! 

“ Tuesday, 3 o'clock . — Oh, my Wilfred, I have been so 
agonized ! How have I been tortured ! What shall I say 
or do ? To-day Count Davrainville called. He was just 
from Paris ; and do you think the wretch had the audacity to 

speak of you as Oh, no ; I will not insult my Wilfred 

by naming it ; but the count spoke of it so as a matter of 
course, that it seemed as if I should sink, although I knew 
every word was false. I assure you I left the room without 
waiting for a repetition of such despicable slander. Oh, Wil- 
fred, Wilfred ! what a load is on my heart ! If I could only 
come now and creep into your bosom, and have you soothe 
me like a poor grieved child. Ah, were it not for my precious 
babe, how quick would I fly to you.” 

XLI. 

“ This letter,” continued the Woedallah, “this letter, writ- 
ten by my sainted mother, completed my reform. I knelt 
down by the side of the bed where she expired, and made a 
vow to live a virtuous life. I shuddered at my recent narrow 
escape, and could hardly believe it was real. Meanwhile my 
absence from Paris caused a thousand reports to be set in 
circulation. I abstained as far as possible from listening to 
tliem, and finally I was left in peace.” 

Here tin? Wmdalluh paused again. He was silent so lung 


176 


SAINT LEGER. 


that I turned toward him, as before, and again perceived that 
he was in extreme agony. As he did not seem inclined to go 
on, I said : “ This can not be the end of your narrative ; ex- 
cuse me, but I am painfully interested to know all.” 

“ I will proceed,” said he, hesitatingly ; “ and yet I would 
pass briefly over the remainder of my life. We cannot well 
bear to look back upon opportunities of happiness unim- 
proved, nay trifled with, thrown away, and for ever lost ; 
especially is it painful when wretchedness and despair 
come in their place. But I wish my history to make you 
wiser and better ; and this effect might not be gained should 
I stop here. I had sworn to live virtuously, and I kept my 
vow ; but let me tell you, my son, that man escapes not easily 
the consequences of an evil course, however he may have 
reformed. The remainder of my history conveys this single 
moral : ponder it well. I will say, in brief, how, continuing 
in my retirement, I became enamored with the only daughter 
of an old French count, whose chateau was near my own ; 
how the loveliness and innocence of the young Leila” (I start- 
ed) “ de Soisson appeared ; for she was lovely and innocent ! 
how I sought her, wooed and wedded her, and brought her 
to Paris in triumph; how, in consequence of my previous ir- 
regularities, I became unreasonably jealous of my wife, who 
had all the freedom and gayety of manner that distinguished 
her nation ; how I believed that I had proof of her guilt ; and 
how, when calling her to my presence, I accused her, I was 
met with indignant denial. 

“Ah, now my ‘ pleasant vices’ began to be my scourge. 1 
was not satisfied, but swore I would forsake a world which 
virtue had deserted. I made ample provision for my wife, 
and after warning her that I should provide for strict watch 
upon her conduct, took our young daughter, whom I already 
began to hate because she resembled her, and placing 


SAINT LEGER. 


177 


her at a nunnery to be educated, sailed for Scotland. With- 
out making myself known to any one, I proceeded to the 
highlands, and having arranged to keep up a constant com- 
munication with the main land, I came hither. Here I re- 
solved to do what good I might. I became interested in this 
simple-hearted honest people. My heart was not yet turned 
quite to stone. My daughter I frequently sent for, for I 
could not bear that she should altogether forget her father, 
though he could not love his child. You have no doubt heard 
how I was forced to leave this island, and to take up my 
abode in a neighboring one. I acted through the whole con- 
scientiously for the good of this poor people. When the new 
steward took control, instead of returning, myself, I went to 
Paris, in consequence of what I had heard from my corre- 
spondent of my wife’s conduct. I went to Paris, but she was 
not there, but living, as my agent informed me, at my chateau 
at Bloissy, in order, as he said, to enjoy still greater freedom. 
I determined to stop this dishonor at all hazards. I repaired 
to the chateau. I sent for her, without announcing myself. 
She came, and on seeing me, threw herself into my arms and 
fainted. I placed her upon a couch until she should recover. 
Had I found her pale and emaciated, I should have believed 
her innocent, but although dressed with simplicity, she look- 
ed as healthful and beautiful as ever. 

“ She soon recovered from her swoon. ‘ Oh, my Wilfred !’ 
said she, faintly ‘have you returned to me at last?’ 

“ ‘ Hypocrite !’ I said, sternly, ‘ cease such abominable de- 
ception ! I know all — nothing is concealed. Your guilt has 
been discovered to me.’ 

Perhaps you have some time in your life,” continued the 
Woedallah, “unfortunately bruised a young and beautifiil 
flower, and as you turned to view the ruin you had effected, 
it would seem as if the tender petals, so full of rich and vai ie- 
12 


178 


SAINT LEGEP. 


gated freshness, and life, and beauty, strove to convey, by their 
very crushed and shrinking appearance, a reproach for your 
wanton carelessness. So it was with Leila. Oh, what a look ! 
— so subdued, so injured, yet so reproachful ! My God ! how 
can I bear to think of it!’’ he exclaimed, starting, stamping 
his foot in frenzy, and then reseating himself. “ Yet she said 
nothing ; she would deny nothing ; she would acknowledge 
nothing. So the fiend was busy with me, and I still believed 
her guilt. I bade her prepare to accompany me, and told her 
she should never return to France. The good old count, her 
father, was dead years before, and the countess had long pre- 
ceded him. Leila seemed not at all distressed at the thought 
of leaving, and the next day we set out for Bordeaux, and 
sailed thence to Scotland; and then — we came here. M3 
wife had an apartment appropriated to her exclusive use, and 
a single female attendant. She had books, and everything 
necessary to her outward comfort. But I never allowed her 
to converse with me. I never spoke to her. Sometimes her 
pride would give way to her love, and I could hear her ad- 
dress me tenderly : ‘ Wilfred ! oh, Wilfred ! this is not such 
severe punishment, to be ever near you, under the same roof, 
and to feel that you are near me, even if you will not speak to 
your poor Leila.’ But she never alluded to her crime — never 
denied it. My own heart was wearing away within me. I 
held no communication with the world. My life, in that ter- 
'U'ible isolation, was one of the most exquisite and changeless 
pain. One morning our attendant told me her mistress was 
ill. I hardly knew what to do, but I bade her ascertain the 
symptoms. As she opened the door of Leila’s apartment, I 
heard my name called, and in tones that evinced extreme 
earnestness and agony. It was her voice. I hesitated. At 
that moment she saw me, and shrieked. ‘ Oh, Wilfred,’ she 


SAINT LEGER> 


179 


exclaimed, ‘if you do not come, you will be fearfully judged, 
for ever and for ever ! Oh, come, come, come to me !» 

T rushed into the room, threw myself into her arms, and 
burst into tears. 

“‘God be praised!’ she exclaimed, ‘ for this last mercy. 
Dearest husband, before my Maker, before him in whose 
presence I shall so soon appear, I swear I am innocent of any 
crime toward you. My pride, my sinful, foolish pnde, is all I 
have to repent of. You have been treacherously deceived, 
my husband. Do you not believe me 1 Do you not believe 
your Leila, now that she is dying V 

“ ‘ Oh, yes ! oh, yes I’ I sobbed, ‘ 1 do believe you. For- 
give me, my injured wife ! I ask not God’s forgiveness, but 
yours, yours I must have.’ 

“ I can not dwell upon this scene. Her days were number- 
ed ; yet we lived a lifetime in those brief hours. And then 
I first learned how, for fiendish purposes, which he could not 
accomplish, my correspondent had lied to me ; and how a 
noble pride in my traduced and suffering Leila prevented her 
from making an explanation. She died praying for blessings 
on the wretch who had embittered her life almost to its latest 
moment. She rests gently, beside my mother, under the 
shade of her own favorite evergreens, at Bloissy. And here 
am I, the stricken of God.” 


180 


SAINT LEGER. 


XLII. 

The Woedallah had concluded. I was not disposed to 
break the silence. The shades of evening began to gather ; 
the waves grew black in the twilight ; the roar of the ocean 
resounded with a more ominous distinctness, until darkness 
was over all the waters. The elements, the spot itself, the 
circumstances, combined to produce a thoughtful and exalted 
solemnity. 

And there we sat ; the gloomy meditator upon what had 
been, and the eager expectant upon what was to be — a 
strange companionship ! There we sat ; and while we lived 
upon the Past and Future, both forgot the eternal Present ; 
the everlasting, never-ending Now, for which only man ex- 
ists; for in it are embraced yesterday, to-day, and for ever. 
Vain mortal, to feed upon dim recollections, or upon the 
unsubstantial framework of false hopes, forgetful of that 
which is ! 

But must faith, must hope, be banished 'I Ah, no. “ Does 
not the earnest expectation of the creature wait for the mani- 
festation of the sons of God V* Assuredly. But it must be 
such faith, such hope, such expectation, as will make the Now 
important. Tell me of a faith that bids me forget the present, 
and I will brand it false. Show me a hope that connects not 
with what is, and I will mark it vain. Summon me an ex- 
pectation that refers not to what I now am, and I will stamp 
it futile. And yet man sits, and waits, and hopes, and expects, 
and waits again, while nothing comes of it ; and he murmurs, 
but still expects, and still the river runs by full flowing, and 
the current will not diminish : still the wheel goes round, 
but nothing is accomplished. And what has his faith, or his 
hope, or his expectation, done for him ? Therefore, oh being. 


SAINT LEGER. 


181 


created by the Almighty Father, when, unquiet and dissatis- 
fied, thou busiest thyself with vain imaginings, know that thou 
neglectest the present, and if thou neglectest ity thou art lost. 

XLIII. 

The Woedallah had concluded; but it was evident that he 
had given a very brief outline of his history. More I could 
not ask. Yet how I longed to question him about the young 
Leila. Here was a mystery unexplained. Not love that 
beautiful creature ! not love the only child of his unfortunate 
and so much wronged wife ! But the Woedallah had not 
said that he was regardless of his child. True, Leila had 

confessed that she could not love him. Perhaps But it 

was idle to conjecture ; and I was consoled with the hope 
that time would explain all. I now went back to myself I 
was adrift again. The naiTative of my kinsman made me 
tremble at the resolution I had taken a little before. Like a 
successful ambuscade, it found me at unawares, and put to 
flight my fancied security. Pleasure ! — what wa& pleasure 1 
It seemed to me like some accursed fiend, whose end was to 
accomplish my destruction. My heart acknowledged to itself 
an incipient guilt, which waited only for temptation to be de- 
veloped. In vain I determined on adherence to my resolu- 
tion. It had vanished ; I could not grasp it : 

“ Tkb frustra comprensa manus efiugit imago, 

Par levibus ve»tis volucrique simillima somno.” 

Everything was gone save one absorbing idea, and that was; 
Leila. I say idea, for I had as yet no conception of the 
ideal. Ah, beautiful and holy ideal ! thou belongest not in 
thy perfection to youth, for youth is attracted too much by 
earth, to worship thee. The dr€>ss must be first expelled, 
the flame of life must burn clear and pure — fed no more by 


182 


SAINT LEGER. 


the exuberance of too young and turbulent blood. How do 
the many, led away by mimic Fancy, 

“which, misjoining shapes, 

Wild work produces'* — 

create for themselves a world of ecstatic dreams, nurtured by 
unhealthy excitements, consuming the heart by their false 
fire, and withering up for ever the well-springs of life ; leav- 
ing the fountain which should flow with perpetual freshness, 
parched, and arid, and desolate. 

But who can realize the Ideal ! They only upon whom 
Imagination waits ; who live in the momentous Present ; who 
yield not to Fancy’s airy nothings — they shall enjoy it, for to 
fiuch Heaven has already begun. 


XLIV. 

When at length I parted from the Woedallah, and proceed- 
ed toward the village, my mind was in a whirl of excitement. 
I saw in fancy nothing but Leila ; I thought of nothing but 
Leila; I gave myself up entirely to Leila. Why, to what 
end, I did not ask — I did not care — I would not think. If I 
could only have one more interview, that was all I would de- 
mand ; all the happiness I required — one more interview ! I 
accused myself of rudeness, of heartlessness, of everything 
unkind. I thought of every word she said ; I remembered 
every step ; every gesture. How I dreaded to think of any- 
thing else : how I loved that night : how I hated the thought 
of the morrow, with its dull routine. 

My bosom full of these emotions, I reached the habitation 
of the worthy minister. I paused upon the threshold. I 
turned and looked up at the still heavens, so quiet and aw- 
ful. The stars which lighted the dark-robed night glittered 


SAINT LEGER. 


183 


with unusual brilliancy. Perhaps Leila too was at that mo- 
ment gazing at them. I felt that she was. My soul drank 
in a world of bliss — of rapture — of indescribable ecstasy. 
Were we not in a perfect sympathy? Were not those stars 
charged with destiny — revealers of every fate ? Could the 
transport have been greater were we gazing into each other’s 
eyes? Glorious stars, truthful stars! and I repeated from 
the Orphic Hymns : 

'Affrcpes ovpavioi, Nv/ctoj <piXa TtKva ftsXaivrjs 
Ey/a»*Xtoi5 Sivrjft nepiOpdviot KvXiovrea 
Motpt^oio iraarrts poiprjs arjpavTopes dvres 
’Eirra^aeif ^divag ' stpopwpcvoi, psp6iT\ayKToi 
A-iya^ovTss del vvktos ^o<poti6ia ttIttKov ! 

Were these feelings true ? Did my heart beat with a health- 
ful excitement ? Was I experiencing what writers of romance 
delight to describe as first love ? We shall see. 

XL V. 

The next day there was to be a hunt for birds and birds’- 
eggs. As the St. Kildans subsist chiefly on wild fowl, and the 
eggs of the wild fowl, it follows of course, that enterprise, 
courage, and alertness, in securing these necessary arti- 
cles of subsistence, form their highest accomplishments. 
The bold adventurer who by feats of extraordinary hazard 
captures the solan goose, as the creature sits upon a shelving 
rock a thousand feet from the toppling crags above, or secures 
the eggs of the lavie, deposited midway between the top of 
some fearful precipice and the foaming sea below, is regarded 
in the island as a hero, and his praises are chanted by the 
St. Kildan maidens in songs remarkably descriptive and full of 
fancy. The heroic actions of the men ; their disregard of 
fatigue and peril ; their success in these enterprises, and some- 


184 


SAINT LEGE a. 


times their untimely fate, form the main topics of St. Kildan 
song. 

All the rocks in the island, which overhang the sea, are di- 
vided among the inhabitants in the same way as the land, and 
any infringement upon the right of possession is regarded as 
heinous as theft itself, and punished accordingly. Each fam- 
ily owns a “rope,” which is absolutely necessary as a means 
of subsistence. This rope is made out of cow’s-hide and cut 
into three thongs, which are plaited together, after having been 
thoroughly salted. This three-fold cord is remarkably strong, 
and with proper care will last for two generations. It always 
descends to the eldest son, and is considered equal in value to 
two good cows. 

The St. Kildans seemed desirous to afford us a fair exhibi- 
tion of their skill. The hunting party consisted of the boldest 
adventurers of the island ; the most dangerous crags were 
selected, and the sport commenced. Two of the men, hav- 
ing made themselves fast to each other, began the perilous 
descent. First one would take the lead, throwing himself 
carelessly from rock to rock, when, darting away from his pre- 
carious foothold, he would hang suspended in the air, his part- 
ner supporting him by bracing against some sharp angle. It 
was next the turn of his companion, who, pursuing a similar 
course, did all he could to surpass his comrade, by exposing 
himself to the most extraordinary perils. After spending some 
time in this way, the two returned, each having secured a fine 
string of birds and a large quantity of eggs. Another couple 
succeeded these, with exploits still more hazardous, and thus 
the afternoon passed away; some ten or twelve St. Kildans 
engaging in the hunt. In the evening it was resolved to in- 
vade the territory of the solan goose. These creatures en- 
gage so industriously during the day in fishing that they are 
content to sleep soundly at night. They select some large 


SAINT LEQER. 


185 


rock where hundreds of them herd together, and after placing 
a sentinel to keep guard, abandon themselves to repose. The 
fowler, having a large white napkin tied across his breast, to 
deceive the sentinel, approaches cautiously. Too late the un- 
suspecting bird finds an enemy in the camp. The sentinel is 
despatched. The hunter lays him among his comrades, who, 
by this time waking up, gather round the unfortunate creature, 
bemoaning his death ; nor do they think of flight till a large 
number of their company are killed by the active fowlers, 
who take this cruel advantage of their ill-timed lamentations. 

Much sport was expected the present evening, for it was 
discovered that an immense number of these birds had set- 
tled upon a well-known rock on the east side of the island, 
inaccessible to ordinary pursuit, but presenting no insur- 
mountable difficulty to a St. Kildan. I had watched the 
whole proceedings during the day, accompanied by Hubert, 
who shared fully the excitement. As we were about start- 
ing for the scene of the new adventure, the latter said to me : 

“ Saint Leger, have a care; Vautrey is somewhere near us.’* 

“ Indeed,” said I ; “ have you seen him ?” 

“ I have been watching him,” answered Hubert, “ all the 
afternoon. His body-guard are with him ; his foreign ser- 
vant and that peculiar imp of Satan whom you saw at the glen. 
They are apparently spectators of the hunt ; but let us be 
watchful during the evening.” 

We both agreed to this, and proceeded to join the party. 
But two couples undertook the perilous descent to the spot 
where the birds were congregated. At one time hanging 
over dizzy heights, at another resting upon the edge of some 
slippery rock, so narrow that there seemed no place even for 
the slightest foothold, the daring adventurers proceeded on 
their perilous way. Below, at a distance of some thousand 
feet, the sea raged and foamed and lashed itself into a resist- 


186 


SAINT LEGER. 


less fuiy; while the sjdi'p projections seen here and there, 
from the different cliffs, indicated with a fearful certainty the 
fate of the wretch who should miss his uncertain foothold. 

All eyes were turned toward the intrepid fowlers. Now 
the heart quailed at their fearful risks ; now admiration for 
their extraordinary daring was paramount. In the midst of 
the excitement, and when all were watching the adventurers 
with breathless interest, I perceived a person coming cau- 
tiously toward me, along the side of the cliff. I knew the 
stranger to be V autrey. He was, as I thought, alone ; but 
on looking more carefully I fancied that I could detect some 
one following in the distance. The count was apparently get- 
ting a position to see the fowlers to the best advantage ; at 
any rate he paused at the place where one of them had de- 
scended, and leaned over, as if watching their movements. 
My own attention was soon directed to the same object ; 
and when I again glanced toward the count, I was surprised 
to see that the figure, which I had before observed, had ap- 
proached near him, and that it was his attendant, the wild 
savage. There was something so treacherous in the manner 
of this hideous creature, that I at once suspected a plan hos- 
tile to myself ; but on closer scrutiny it seemed as if he was 
attempting to come up, unobserved, with Vautrey. He cer- 
tainly did not seem aware that I was near. So extraordinary 
did this appear, that I turned my attention entirely toward 
the count and his attendant. The latter approached nearer 
and nearer to his master ; he would pause and glance 
hastily around, or skulk behind a rough mass of rock, 
and then resume his cat-paced course. I rose instinctively to 
warn Vautrey — I knew not of what; but I felt that there was 
danger. At the same instant the savage started up, ran 
swiftly toward the count, and rushing upon him with a sud- 
den, desperate fury, seized him, and by u tremendous effort 


SAINT LEGER. 


187 


hurled him over the precipice — clear down into the frightful 
chasm. 

It was so hoiTible, that I shrieked in spite of myself. In a 
moment the savage was by my side. I was upon my guard, 
yet he attempted no violence ; but throwing off a quantity of 
coarse hair from his head, I recognised the wild highland 
follower of the young Glenfinglas, DonachaMacIan. His 
eyes gleamed with malignant fire ; his soul seemed complete- 
ly abandoned to the furies. Pointing with exultation toward 
the cliff, and then to himself, as if glorying in the act, he , 
turned, uttered a fierce highland cry, and disappeared in 
the darkness. This was the work almost of a moment. The 
alarm was given ; the whole party were in confusion. 

But Count Laurent de Vautrey was not thus to perish. 
Strange, nay incredible, as it may appear, although he was 
cast by the sudden attack of Donacha completely clear of the 
cliff, still, after falling several feet, he caught the projecting 
point of a rock, which, although it wounded him severely, 
served to ai-rest his fall. But he could not hang by it ; it only 
gave him an instant longer to think upon his fate. It will be 
remembered that the count had chosen a place for his obser- 
vation where one of the fowlers had descended. This choice 
saved his life ; for only a few feet below, the same fowler 
was cautiously ensconced upon a narrow shelf of rock, 
braced up to meet any emergency of his partner, who was 
linked to him, and was pursuing the way toward his eyry, 
some hundred feet below. As the miserable Vautrey caught 
upon the projection, he was seen, and the St. Kildan’s en- 
ergies instantly summoned for his rescue. The next instant 
Vautrey fell heavily down, but not into the fearful abyss that 
seemed gaping to receive him. The hunter watched him as 
his hold loosened on the crag, and by an extraordinary eflbrt 
caught and held him in his desce nt. His partner was called 


188 


SAINT LEGER. 


to ; the rope was tied round the count, and he was drawn to 
the top of the cliff, lacerated and bleeding, but without any 
mortal injury. 

He was conveyed to the house of the minister. Hubert 
and myself yielded our bed to him, and sought accommoda- 
tions elsewhere. As I was the only eyewitness of the attack 
made by Donacha, I hesitated to state that I recognised in 
him the follower of Glenfinglas. I finally concluded to speak 
of it to Hubert only, and leave it for him to make further 
~ mention of it, if he chose to do so. My cousin heard me in 
silence ; walked up and down a moment with a serious air ; 
then stopping, exclaimed : “ Saint Leger, mark my words, 
Vautrey is a dead man.” 

What do you mean V’ said I. 

A dead man,” continued Hubert, “ Donacha is as sure 
of him as if his dirk was now through his heart. I know the 
race ; but I did not know that Donacha, being a captive, ac- 
knowledged fealty to Glenfinglas. Dead] yes, if he escaped 
seventy tunes. Never did a Maclan lose sight of his victim, 
when revenge sharpened the pursuit. The blood-hound has 
not a surer scent ; the fox is not more subtle, nor the tiger 
more fierce, nor the cat more stealthy, nor the tortoise more 
patient, thana Maclan of the Black Cloud when pursuing his 
enemy.” 

“Nonsense,” said I; “Vautrey will be on the continent 
in less than three weeks, beyond the reach of all the thieving 
caterans ’twixt this and Ben Nevis.” 

“ You will see,” said my cousin ; “ and as for telling Vaut- 
rey who his enemy is, it will only alarm him without in the 
least assisting to prevent the danger. No, no; let him im- 
agine that the savage undertook this as a revenge for some 
supposed affront while in his service, and let it pass. I *11 not 
put my finger in a dish of the devifs cooking, at any rate. 


SAINT LEGER, 


189 


If Vautrey does not like the entertainment, he must cater bet- 
ter next time.” 

I saw that Hubert had a full share of highland prejudice, 
which I did not care to interfere with ; so I left the matter 
with him altogether. I thought much about it, nevertheless. 


XLVI. 

It was quite time for us to be away. I went once more 
to the glen to make my parting salutations to my kinsman. 
He received me with a composure I had not before witnessed 
in him. He was evidently calmer and happier. We con- 
versed some time, and I rose to leave. “ My son,” said he, 
“ I thank you for this visit. It may result in good. I will 
make your adieu to Leila” — I had asked for her — “she is not 
well. Perhaps you will see her when she leaves this.” — I 
started and changed color. — “Speak of me to the Lady Alice. 
I remember her token ; and, my son, forget not my farewell 
admonition; ^ At the farting of the ways mistake not; seek 
no pleasure which satisfies not; he self-denying and he great. 
Adieu. ^ ” 

Much affected, I turned from the Woedallah. I took my 
last look at the stone grotto, at the delightful little valley, and 
the scene beyond. I hastened to the village ; all was ready 
for our departure, and we set sail. Soon the threatening 
cliffs of Hirta receded ; after a quick passage, we made the 
coast, and sailed up the loch to Glencoe. Then came parting 
with my dear friends there and then, “ Ho ! for England.” 


190 


SAINT LEGER. 


XLVII. 

Was the William Henry Saint Leger who started in the 
spring-time upon his tour, the same William Henry Saint 
Leger whom the early autumn had returned in safety to his 
home? 


END OP BOOK FIRST. 


BOOK II. 


*AXX’ iKSiSdcKei rravO' h ynpdcrKOiv ^p6vos» 

iEscHYLus, Prom. Vinct., 1002, 

Time, as its age advanceth, teaches all things. 

ActXoj 6' c5 UKordcaca Osdv ntpi So^a neurjXev. 

Empedocles, Frag. 

Ah, wretch ! whose soul dark thoughts of God invade. 


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BOOK SECOND. 


I. 

Two YEARS ! 

Time, that mighty leaven, which leaveneth the great cur- 
rent of events, maturing and evolving each in its appointed 
order, had worked restlessly through two more years, and 
these were added to the eternity of the past 

And what were those two years to me 1 Much, every way, 
save in actual results. In these, nothing. 

The result is slow, and sudden. Slow, to the anxious, who 
labor wearily, and with an almost omnipresent energy, to 
bring somewhat to pass. To them, how painful are the steps 
toward the summit, though from the plain its towering height 
delights the eye ! Sudden, to the wondering many who be- 
hold what has come to pass, but who know not, nor think, 
nor imagine anything of the preparation-work. To them how 
suddenly docs the patient laborer emerge from obscurity, and 
take his stand upon the pinnacle of fame ! 

This is also true of that which tends downward to perdi- 
tion : for men look at the results of evil, not at the causes of 
it. The result is nothing without exclusion. To attain it, 
one must exclude all that is foreign to the pursuit. If a man 
serves his passions, he must exclude the higher enjoyments 
of the moral and intellectual. Or if he seeks the intellectual, 
he must exclude those baser things which enervate and en- 
slave the mind. If he determine upon moral and religious 
culture, he must exclude the influences of time and sense. 

13 


194 


SAINT LEGER. 


Self-denial, which is another word for exclusion, is a neces- 
sary exercise. No matter what the object sought; without 
it, all labor is empty effort. For no person can at the same 
time walk in a given direction and in a direction exactly op- 
posite. Attempt first one and then the other, and no progress 
is made. Self-denial may be painful, or it may not be. It 
may be every way agreeable ; or it may produce a strong 
and never-ending struggle with ourselves. The sensualist 
denies himself the exercise of virtue, to please his passions, 
excluding all the good influences of his moral nature. The 
worldling denies himself to gratify an ambition of one kind or 
another, excluding whatever interferes with his aim. The 
Christian denies himself, to satisfy his moral sense, excluding 
the various temptations which surround and beset him. Self- 
denial, then, is a philosophical exclusion of everything which 
interferes with a given rule of conduct, adopted with refer- 
ence to a desired result. And yet we often encounter a cer- 
tain class of benevolents, who tell us that “ all things were 
made for man’s enjoyment that “ every creature of God is 
good;” that the happiness within our reach is the happiness 
to secure, and that self-denial, if it implies any constraint, is 
altogether wrong in itself ; in short, is too absurd (because too 
disagreeable) to be tolerated. 

These are dangerous philanthropists. They have no notion 
of the holy in man. They are earthly, sensual, devilish. 
They can make no distinction between the sensual and the 
intellectual, much less between the intellectual and the moral. 
They seem not to understand that the passions may lead 
where the intellect refuses to follow, and that the intellect 
may yield where the moral sense condemns. Not daring to 
avow their doctrine in all its hideous deformity, they cover it 
over with the gloss of an apparently improved humanity ; and 
by picturing a perfect state of ideal sensuousness (I say sen- 
suousness, because self is the sole object of contemplation in 


SAINT LEGER. 


195 


it), they lead numbers away irreclaimably to perdition. They 
are blind leaders of the blind. 

Once more I utter my warning. Once more I say to those 
in the forming time (reader, if you have passed that period 
you are beyond my reach), yield not to the sensual ; worship 
not as a divinity the intellectual ; rest only in an object of the 
highest moral purity ; anything less will end in death. For 
no man can find rest in an object unless that object is larger 
than his own mind, and no mind can rest in an object which 
is not illimitable. Therefore no merely earthly object can 
satisfy it. We must have an object of Good, which expands 
as the mind expands which contemplates it — and that object 
is God. He must furnish the aliment to sustain our souls. 
In no other way can the soul be elevated and restored to its 
original purity. Then, if we may not prevent the temptations 
which beset us, we can defy their power ! 


II. 

As I pass from one period of my life to another, I pause, 
hesitating to go on, — like one who, after years of absence and 
of incident, comes back to scenes of a former day, and while 
he recalls, with all the vividness of reawakened memory, the 
thousand circumstances which gave interest then to the lo- 
calities he revisits, is for a time spell-bound. He sees 
everything precisely as he saw it years before — the land- 
scape, the mansion, a particular apartment, the books, the 
furniture, and the little articles of use or fancy which lie scat- 
tered around. Other things have been changing ; these have 
remained the same ; and they speak to him as if they knew 
not that he had changed. They speak the language of past 
days ; they know no other, and therefore the wanderer lin- 
gers, ere he resumes his pilgrimage. 


196 


SAINT LEGER. 


III. 

I HAD returned from Glencoe an altered being. 1 felt that 
an epocha had taken place in my existence. Before, I sought 
eagerly after some explanation of the outward form and man- 
ner of this world. I expected to get at the centre from the 
surface. The consequence was, that whatever I learned suf- 
ficed only for the occasion ; it furnished me with nothing in- 
ductive. I was still under a cloud, and saw everything “ as 
through a glass, darkly.’^ As the tendencies of manhood be- 
gan more strongly to be developed, those tendencies which re- 
ceived a tremendous impetus from the strange adventures of 
the previous summer, T felt that there must be some way to 
break the charm of mystery that enveloped all around me. 
So far, nothing had indelibly impressed me. Perhaps I may 
except the meeting with the Woedallah and my acquaintance 
with Leila, which beyond question were the most remarkable 
incidents that had come to affect me. 

From Leila I had heard nothing since leaving St. Kilda, 
though months had elapsed ; so that even the singular occur- 
rences at that remote island began by degrees to lose their 
hold upon me. Perhaps I was a little piqued at the silence 
of my fair relative, after her promise that she would acquaint 
me with her movements ; besides, I was in no state to cherish 
recollections of any kind. I desired to get upon some sys- 
tem of living which would give me peace of mind. At the 
same time I felt dissatisfied with everything I had ever tried. 
I longed for something new. Restraint of every kind had 
become irksome, oppressive, unendurable. I resolved to 
throw off the fetters of former influences, and learn afresh. 
This was a Hardy resolution for a youth, but it was taken. 


SAINT LEGER. 


197 


It is fearful indeed thus to unsettle everything which pre- 
vious education has tended to make firm. But it is still more 
fearful to find, too late in life, that one is adrift. When I 
came home, I began to commune with myself. The return 
to familiar scenes had nothing of its usual enlivening effect 
upon my spirits. After a while I went to the old library. It 
was dustier and more gloomy and more neglected than ever; 
but I loved it. 1 resolved there, in that ancient and deserted 
chamber, to put my resolution in practice. I declared to my- 
self that I would think with freedom ; that what seemed to 
me to be inconsistent I would call inconsistent, and that what- 
ever did not commend itself to my reason I would reject. 
Full of these notions of new-fledged independence, I began 
to study. 

It happened about this time that my father employed as a 
tutor for me a man highly recommended to him by a particu- 
lar friend, as thoroughly learned and accomplished ; and in 
consequence, Frederick De Lisle was domesticated at Ber- 
told Castle. He was an Englishman by birth, a Frenchman 
by descent, and a German by education. How my father 
w'as induced to break over his prejudices and receive into his 
house any one with Gallic blood in his veins, I can not tell, ex- 
cept that he was carried away by the persuasions and recom- 
mendations of his friend, upon whose opinion he placed great 
reliance. De Lisle was about five-and-thirty ; old enough to 
have formed settled opinions, and maintain them with power- 
ful arguments; young enough to commend himself to my 
companionship by a tolerably youthful air and demeanor. 

I have said that he was of French descent, but he had 
nothing of the easy volatility of the Frenchman in his man- 
ner or in his character. His parents were Huguenots, who 
escaped into England to save their lives and enjoy religious 
freedom. England, to be sure, could not at that time 


198 


SAINT LEGER. 


boast of universal tolerance, but the elder De Lisle had 
friends in the country, and to England he came. His son 
was bom some time after the settlement of the parents in 
their adopted land. His early training had been carefully 
looked after, and by the assistance of the firiend who had 
recommended the young man to us, he was sent to Germany 
to be educated. Naturally contemplative and thoughtful, 
without possessing a deep-reasoning, cause-discovering mind, 
the young De Lisle found, in the mazy philosophy of a cer- 
tain class of German writers, a ready-made system, just fitted 
to his powers of contemplation, and apparently explanatory 
of the theory of life which he had been accustomed to con- 
sider as entirely beyond his grasp. He yielded, therefore, a 
blind assent to the new philosophy, and became, really with- 
out being aware of it, a very religious Pantheist. 

I must not do him injustice. He had far more than or- 
dinary powers of mind. He was a finished scholar, a pro- 
ficient in the ancient and modem languages, and possessed of a 
fine critical taste. He had nothing of that malignant sarcasm 
which the doubter is apt to use with so unsparing a hand, with 
those who do not give a ready assent to his doctrines. De 
Lisle, on the contrary, was satisfied with having found a the- 
ory in which he could himself rest, and which he was happy 
to commend to others, without assailing their own. In con- 
clusion, I must add, that he was naturally amiable, and his 
habits of life unexceptionable in every respect. 

Such was the person (nearly twenty years my senior), who 
at this stage of my mental and moral progress was intro- 
duced as my preceptor and guide. 

Was I n3t in danger ? 


SAINT LEGER. 


199 


IV. 

1 CONTINUED sDme time pursuing different studies under the 
direction of De Lisle, without making him acquainted with 
the state of my mind, although I was won by his pleasing, I 
may almost say fascinating deportment. Perceiving how 
much time I spent by myself, he at last asked me, in a deli- 
cate manner, what it was that so constantly occupied my 
leisure 1 I was not disposed at first to be communicative, 
but I finally concluded to give him a full account of myself. 
I proceeded with considerable trepidation to recount all that 
I had experienced, showing evidently by my manner that I 
considered the history of my mental trials very extraordinary. 
When I had finished, De Lisle, much to my surprise, 
smiled complacently upon me, and said, with an air half of 
commiseration, half of superiority : 

“ My young friend, you are but going through with the ex- 
perience of every one who escapes from the thraldrom of 
superstition and bigotry into the clear atmosphere of intellec- 
tual freedom. You tell me of fears. Man in his proper ele- 
ment can have no fears. Why should he have them ? What 
has he to fear? Whom has he to fear? Is he not a part 
and portion of the Almighty Essence ? Can you resolve his 
spirit into aught else ? Can Self war with Self? Nay, re- 
solve man into what you will, why should he play the trem- 
bler ? Saint Leger,” continued De Lisle, kindly, “ I appre- 
ciate your distress ; I feel with you. Trust therefore to my 
experience. The ground over which you are passing J have 
passed. I too have been in darkness ; have had my appre- 
hensions and my fears ; my forebodings, my trials and my 


200 


SAINT LEGER. 


doubts. I have escaped from them all, into glorious liberty, 
and in the path which led to ray emancipation I would con- 
duct you.” 

I was completely astounded by these remarks. I supposed 
that all my experience was peculiar to myself ; and I felt no 
small degree of mortification to learn that I had been travelling 
a beaten track, and that an ordinary acquaintance could 
readily describe the journey. I believe I may say with truth 
that I had a stronger intellect than De Lisle. But so com- 
pletely was I surprised at this unlooked-for denouement, and 
so entirely did my friend seem to understand my position, 
that almost without knowing it, I yielded to his guidance. 
This certainly was not extraordinary. It probably would 
have occurred in ninety-nine cases of a hundred. At all 
events, it occurred in mine. 

In this way did De Lisle come to exercise a great influence 
over my mind. Still, I made very slow progress in my new 
course. Although I had thrown all former opinions to the 
winds, they would steal back upon me unperceived, knock 
softly at the door, and Conscience (for the first time an im- 
faithful janitor) would let them in without my consent; true, 
they were instantly turned out of doors again ; but they, nev- 
ertheless, gave me much trouble. 

I was not without my misgivings. After all, I disliked to 
be convinced that my life had been one grand error, and that 
I had just discovered it. Was I then so enslaved % Was not 
my reason free ? Had my education been so entirely per- 
verted and misdirected 1 These were questions that I asked 
myself daily, and daily I tried to answer them. 

At this time I came across, in the old library, the Tractatus 
Theologico Politicus of Benedict Spinoza. I perused this 
work with avidity. De Lisle, who seemed to understand my 
disposition, took care not I ^ alarm my pride by too much die- 


SAINT LEGER. 


201 


tation. He would assist me in a difficult passage, or throw 
in a remark to corroborate my author, and afterward leave 
me to myself. Although the doctrine of Spinoza appeared to 
be a sort of revival of the doctrines of some of the ancient 
Grecian philosophers, who held that “ all things lie in the 
great body of God 

Ilavra yap tv pcyaXw ra Se awpari Keirai ] 

Still, much as had been written on the subject of the Grecian 
theology, it had never in my own mind jarred with my es- 
tablished notions of the Deity, or run counter to what I be- 
lieved to be the truths of revelation. But this work of Spinoza 
struck at the root of all my former belief ; entirely destroyed 
every previous hope ; swept everything away, and left waste 
every place in its progress. De Lisle saw my despondency, 
but bade me take courage. He remarked that Spinoza was 
not free from error, but that whatever man thought he might 
utter ; and if the Tractatus Theologico partook too much of 
universality (he did not say Pantheism), still it was a book to 
be well considered. 

Just before this, Emanuel Kant published his Critique 
of Pure Reason, and De Lisle procured it for my perusal. 
I found the task difficult, from the vast number of new terms 
employed, amounting almost to a new nomenclature ; but I 
did master it, and found some relief from Spinoza. Delight- 
ed at this, I sought for and read several other works of Kant. 
So far as he relieved my mind from the fearful system of 
Spinoza, I reverenced and loved him. Out of real gratitude 
I became his pupil. From one step I passed to another, un- 
til I was fully imbued with the philosophical tendencies of the 
new German school. 


202 


SAINT LEGER. 


V. 

My thoughts became daily more distracted. « had pur- 
chased intellectual freedom, and lost my peace of mind. I 
looked back to my former state, and felt how happy had been 
my ignorance. I thought of the God of my childhood, and a 
pang went low down into my heart. I seemed to have . lost 
my humanity, and over the warm life-glowing structure of a 
hopeful heart had been raised a splendid and magnificent but 
cold and gloomy mausoleum. True, I was no longer a sec- 
ondary object ; I was a part of the sublime whole ; a portion 
of very God ; ever-changihg, always being. But that which 
flattered my pride, destroyed my happiness ; and I exclaimed 
in anguish to myself, “Who will give. me back my soul?” 
But of all pangs, the most deeply mournful were those that 
gathered throbbing, throbbing, close in under my heart, when- 
ever I saw my mother. I could not encounter her soft, kind, 
inquiring eyes, raised to mine, anxiously but silently asking 
what it was that disturbed her child. There was that in 
her gaze which I dared not meet. It was so pure, so peaceful, 
so heavenly — yet so troubled. 

And could my new philosophy be truth-inspired and yet 
not support me under these fresh trials ? In my distress I 
applied to De Lisle, but received no aid. It was not in his 
power to sympathize with me, for my feelings were beyond 
his reach. He could only beg me to have patience, and as- 
sure me that this was a last struggle between my former su- 
perstitious and my new dawning freedom ; that it would soon 
be over, and all would be well. In short, De Lisle had raised 
a spirit which he could not lay ; if he himself suspected this, 


SAINT LEGEE. 


203 


he was careful not to alarm me by his suspicions, but main- 
tained his usual calm and complacent manner. 

I was truly in a pitiable state, but I did not relax my efforts 
to become free, t studied, and read, and thought, more as- 
siduously than ever. My soul was consuming within me. 

VI. 

One morning, after the arrival of the post, a letter with my 
a Idress was placed in my hands. The superscription was in 
a small, delicate hand, but every character was traced with 
singular distinctness. I opened it, and read as follows ; 

“ 1 have not forgotten you ; I never shall forget you ; never 
— never! At present, I write few words. My father has 
conversed with me as a parent with a child. He has given 
me his confidence, and I love him. I owe this to your visit. 
I love my father, but do not release you from your promised 
friendship. Let it be abiding; God only knows how soon I 
may require it. We shall meet by-and-by, but not yet : for 
I know not now where my destiny will lead me. Wherever 
I am, my consolation shall be, that in the hour of need I have 
one real heart-friend. Your promise is pledged — do not for- 
get it. “ Leila Saint Leger.” 

“ This is from a Saint Leger to a Saint Leger — you can- 
not misconstrue it. “ L. St. L.’* 

How opportune was this short epistle ! I read it over and 
over. I examined it word by word, syllable by syllable, letter 
by letter. The postscript, although written for explanation, 
pleased me less than the rest. I felt a thrill of joy, as the 
recollection of our last interview came back to me. 

And this simple bit of paper, with these small characters 
traced upon it, had :he effect to rd ieve my spirit, which was 


204 


SAINT LEGER. 


on the verge of madness. Here was humanity interposed be- 
tween me and the fiend. A young, beautiful, and almost un- 
protected girl claimed something at my hands; at least — 
friendship ; and whatever was or was not, in heaven above or 
in hell below, if hell or heaven there were, yet here, upon the 
round earth, something real, delectable (as I thought), holy, 
presented itself, not for my contemplation — I had had enough 
of that — but for positive thought, and action, and feeling. 
Something objective, something real, something true. 

Thus I reasoned then. 

Of course I knew not when I should hear from Leila again. 
It did not much matter, so long as I was assured of the tie 
between us. I could now resume my studies ; I could look 
more minutely into De Lisle’s theory of life. Strange to say, 
I felt less repugnance to it than before. I began to take a 
deeper interest in things about me. Nature seemed more 
joyous ; and when De Lisle said, in his tranquil tone, See 
you not God stirring through all this] — here, and there? 
above, around, everywhere? All is God, and God all!” — I 
murmured an almost satisfied assent. 

Yet I was not happy. 


VII. 

No, I was not happy. Though I had achieved much in 
serenity of feeling ; and notwithstanding my repeated self-as- 
surances of independence, I continued to ask myself what it 
was I had gained, and where I stood. The future, with what 
seemed its solemn realities, had heretofore pressed heavily 
upon me. My great difficulty had been to connect the pres- 
ent life with a life to come, and to fix the relations between 
them. For faith had never been sufficiently cherished by me ; 
and without this great connecting link between two worlds. 


SAINT LEGER. 


205 


what wonder that difficulties arose which I could not over- 
come. 

But in my present course I was not to be distressed with 
doubts or fears. I tried to assume the quiet tone that char- 
acterized De Lisle, and with calmness to regard my vicissi- 
tudes as necessary results of causes long antecedent. 

Unfortunately mine was not the temper for such compla- 
cency. Besides, I had a fresh enemy to contend with, one 
hitherto quite unknown ; the idea of Death constantly obtru- 
ding before my mind. I had never regarded that consumma- 
tion with any peculiar dread ; but now, I could not indulge 
in a momentary anticipation but the grim form of the De- 
stroyer would stalk before me and whisper, “ I will soon be 
with you !” To be haunted with a positive coming evil is 
terrible ; but to be tortured with fears of what may be, be- 
cause we know nothing and will believe nothing of what is to 
be, is still more dreadful. 

One thing I did know. Death would close all my earthly 
relations. The beyond — the beyond ! what had it to do with 
me ? So long as I kept my hold on life, my philosophy bore 
me along smoothly enough. I was a monarch ; all were mon- 
archs. But when I had to admit that at any moment this 
framework was liable to be shattered, resolved into the dust 
that composed it, and my spirit diffused into the elements, to 
enter into new combinations, or return to what it had been 
before it was me ; when the obtrusive thought came that I 
should then lose my individuality, my identity — my very self 
— ah, my God ! what terrific apprehensions would gather in 
clouds about my heart 1 It is impossible to describe these 
tortures. I tried to elude them by looking altogether earth- 
ward ; but the more I sought satisfaction from the prospect, 
the greater became the power of these distracting influences. 
By what spectral horrors was I haunted ! Yet I roused my-» 


206 


SAINT LEGER. 


self, and with all my strength determined to oppose and break 
the spells that were upon me. I found I could not cope with 
them single-handed ; that I must call to my aid a superior 
energy ; for my enemy was beyond any mortal power. Alas ! 
I acknowledged no superior. So, in the moment of my chief- 
est exaltation I was in the greatest need. 

VIII. 

I WILL not enter more minutely into a detail of my mental 
struggles. They partook mainly of the character heretofore 
described. After battling with them for nearly three years, I 
felt convinced that I must seek some new ground or yield to 
them. T o travel had always been my delight. The prospect 
of a journey was in itself a restorative to my spirits ; and I 
looked to change of scene as my only resource. I cast my 
eyes toward Germany. There I should find religion, philoso- 
phy, and romance. There I could commune with men-stu- 
dents, with busy, active, independent thinkers. There I 
should behold every beauty of scenery, with wild legends of 
the past, and a present glowing with wonders ; and the rising 
fame of several German names promising a bright poetic day 
for their fatherland, served also to impel me thither. I told 
De Lisle my wish. He at once fell in with it, and promised 
his influence with my father; for the same reason perhaps 
that physicians recommend change of scene to an incurable 
patient, to escape the responsibility of a death. I do believe 
De Lisle thought me incurable ; but I will do him the justice 
to say that his attention to my education was faithful ; and as 
he was every way competent, I made rapid advancement un- 
der his instruction. As was agreed upon, he sought an inter- 
view with my father, and obtained permission, with less diffi- 
culty than was anticipated, for me to visit the continent. The 


SAINT LEGE It 


207 


favorable report he was pleased to make of my studies, with 
the opinion that it would be advisable for me to continue 
them abroad, induced my father’s consent to my going. As 
1 have before said, he was an indulgent although an exacting 
parent j and if his children came up to his requirements his 
favors were not measured with a scanty hand. Of course he 
knew nothing of my inner life ; my trials, my heart-strivings ; 
but he knew the rapid progress T had made in my studies, 
and was willing and happy to reward me. One restriction 
was imposed ; I was not to spend any time in France nor up- 
on the route toward the place of my destination, which was 
Leipsic. Should I continue to deserve the praise of a dili- 
gent student, I was promised, after a period, the privilege of 
an entire tour of Europe. 

How my heart beat with excitement at the prospect of 
breaking loose ! I forgot every grief, every trouble, in the 
anticipation of what was before me. Even my grim enemy. 
Death, seemed willing for a while to make a truce, and was 
no longer thrusting his icy finger before my eyes. Still all 
did not go smoothly. My mother strongly opposed my leav- 
ing England. She could not endure the thought of my going 
alone to a foreign country, to be exposed to all the tempta- 
tions to which youth are subject. She knew nothing of the 
state of my mind, as I have before hinted, but she saw that 
something disturbed my peace ; and she pictured to herself 
the thousand evils a foreign life would bring upon me ; es- 
pecially she feared the corruption of my religious sentiments. 
Alas ! she little knew the fearful change which had already 
taken place. Still it was settled that I should go, and the day 
fixed for my departure arrived. A little while before I was 
to leave, my mother desired me to accompany her into the 
garden, which sloped away from one side of the house. She 
took my arm and walked with me into a small arbor at the 


208 


SAINT LEGEIt 


extremity of a shaded walk. Then she threw her arms 
around my neck and burst into tears. As soon as she became 
composed, she raised her head, and laid her hand im- 
pressively on my shoulder : “ William,” said she, “ dearly, 
dearly as I love you, it would grieve me less to see you home 
upon your bier into the tomb than to behold you as I do about 
to start upon this unhappy journey. But the decision is 
made ; you go ; but oh, William, do not forget God ; forget not 
your Savior; and may the sweet influences of the Holy 
Spirit rest upon you.” 

She kissed my forehead with fervor, and left me to myself. 

I was sensibly affected, and felt ready to abandon every 
new speculation, even my journey; but after a few moments, 
the thought of what lay before me, should I remain, decided 
me. I could not stay. With my father the leave-taking was 
peculiar. He called me into his private room and re- 
quested me to be seated. His words were few and to the 
point. “ My son,” said he, “ in sending you to a strange 
land I have not forgotten that you are still liable to the temp- 
tations which beset the young. But I have great confidence 
in your integrity of character and in your self-respect. You 
will travel alone to Leipsic. Here is a small chart, upon 
which I have indicated the route I wish you to pursue. You 
will perceive that 1 have not confined you to the direct course. 
By following the chart, you will see, in a rapid way, France, 
Switzerland, and some of the German provinces. Take this 
lette]’. It is addressed to the learned and good Doctor Jo- 
hann Von Hofrath. He was my early preceptor. He will 
be your friend. He will receive you into his house, and will 
direct your studies. I have written him fully. I want no 
public teaching, where young men herd together for their 
ruin. In parting, my advice is, that you bear in mind the un- 
certainty of all things earthly, with reference to your account- 


SAINT LEGER. 


209 


ability to Goo. Read the Sermon upon the Mount, and the 
parables of the Savior, the Proverbs of Solomon, and the 
Ecclesiastes. Make them your study. Do your whole duty, 
and receive a parent’s blessing. May the Father of your 
fathers go with you, guide you, and bring you again in safety 
to your home.” 

IX. 

All was ready for my journey. I was to leave at seven in 
the evening, and the clock had struck the hour. I bade our 
family farewell, shook De Lisle warmly by the hand, and 
departed. A t last I was thrown fairly upon my own resources. 
“ The world was all before me,” and my spirits were as buoyant 
as if they had never known depression. I had first to go to 
London. Thence my route was to Dover through Gravesend, 
Rochester, and Canterbury. Arrived at Dover, I took a small 
packet for Boulogne, and the wind being favorable, we ran 
over in about six hours. I was in France. It seemed like 
stepping out from noon-day into twilight. Everything wore 
an unreal aspect. I was examined suspiciously, my passport 
subjected to the minutest scrutiny and myself with it. I spoke 
French well, and with but a slight accent. This occasioned 
considerable conjecture ; but after some delay I was suffered 
to proceed to Paris. I took the route by Amiens, and stopped 
a few hours there to view the cathedral. On the evening of 
a dusty day in the latter part of May, just as the lamps had 
begun to be lighted, 1 entered Paris. I was full of excite- 
ment. I thought of the story of the Woedallah, and every 
particular of his tale came vividly to mind. Here was the 
scene of my kinsman’s follies ; here he met his dreadful fate. 
But I looked further back. Here reigned Louis the Great; 
here schemed the mighty cardinal ; and here they languished 
14 


210 


SAINT LEGER. 


like other men, and languishing, died ! Here succeeded the 
fifteenth Louis, who, as he could not aspire to the greatness 
of his predecessor, strove to rival him in the dissoluteness of 
his court. And now here I could witness the weakness of 
Louis the Sixteenth, and the seeds of revolt and misrule al- 
ready springing up. 

I could not stop in Paris, much as I desired to do so. My 
instructions were positive, and I went next to Lyons. Pre- 
viously however to leaving Paris, I took my way to the rue 
Copeau, full of a feverish curiosity to behold the spot where 
Wilfred Saint Leger lived and loved, and was faithless, and 
where at last he fell by the hand of Moncrieff. 

I found the house, but it was tenantless. Dust and cob- 
webs had accumulated over the gateway, and an appearance 
of desolation and gloom pervaded the building. I could not 
satisfy my desire to visit the garden. Away over the roof, 
however, I could discern the turrets of the nunnery, whose 
chimes told the Woedallah so impressively the hour of eight. 
I pictured in my fancy the garden and the bower, and could 
see the combatants engaging in their fatal strife. 

X. 

I POSTED to Lyons. The journey was tedious, and render- 
ed sufficiently disagreeable by the constant inspection and ex- 
amination to which I was subjected. I was in haste to enter 
Switzerland ; so without stopping long enough to recover from 
my fatigue, I set off for Geneva. How great the transition 
from one country to the other ! In civil polity, in character, 
in manners and customs, in opinions and sentiments, in nat- 
ural position and scenery, how unlike were the French and 
Swiss ! But I will not turn aside from the design of my nar- 
rative to picture all I saw and all I enjoyed. There rose the 


SAINT LEGER. 


211 


threatening Jura ; here was Mont Blanc, and in the distance 
the snow-capped Alps. I felt gratefiil to my father for allow- 
ing such an agreeable departure from a direct route. From 
Geneva, I passed to the foot of Mont Blanc, and stopped in 
the pleasant village of Chamouni. I had admired the grandeur 
of Scottish scenery, but how did it dwarf before the stupendous 
Alp ! What were even the wonders of St. Kilda, compared 
with the awful magnificence of the Mer-de-Glace, or the 
perils of the pass of the T6te Noire. I came next to the 
valley of the Rhone. Stopping a night at Lausanne, 1 pro- 
ceeded through Berne, Luzerne, and Zurich, to Schaffhausen, 
where I first saw the Rhine. My spirits rose as I went on, 
and now my heart beat with an almost healthful glow. Passing 
through Carlsruhe and Mayence, I found myself, after a ride 
of a few hours from the latter place, at Frankfort-on-the- 
Maine. Everything about me told emphatically of the Ger- 
man. The steady aspect, the substantial bearing, the ever- 
present perfume of tobacco-smoke, and the thoughtful, com- 
posed, sedate look of the smokers, were indeed significant 
of my whereabout. I passed a pleasant day in Frankfort, 
and proceeded on my route. 

On the evening of the third day after leaving Frankfort, 
I arrived in Leipsic. I was agreeably disappointed in the 
appearance of the town ; and as we passed through the well- 
built suburbs, the sight of the beautiful gardens, which belong 
to almost every house, produced a cheering impression. I 
had reached my place of destination, and almost for the first 
time felt the fatigues of my long journey. I retired soon after I 
reached my hotel, and slumbered soundly. 


212 


SAINT LEGER. 


♦ 


XI. 

The next morning I sat out early to seek the residence of 
Johann Von Hofrath. I learned that it was near the Rosen- 
thal, a short way out of town, by a pleasant road. As I was 
anxious to look about me, I sat out for it on foot. I had at 
last arrived at the wished-for spot. I was in the very heart 
of Germany. Here was the field where religious freedom 
had triumphed, after a conflict which could never be forgot- 
ten. What great names were associated with almost every 
locality ! I felt that the ground was sacred. Passing through 
the suburbs, I came into the open country, and after a little 
inquiry, stopped before the door of the learned professor. 

A stout, hearty-looking servant girl answered my summons, 
and requested me to enter. I did so ; and was ushered into 
a neat but plain apartment, where I found a young girl, ap- 
parently about seventeen, engaged with her needle. She 
looked up as I entered, but did not start or blush, or manifest 
any of the usual signs which an English girl would so cer- 
tainly have exhibited on a like occasion. With a modest but at 
the same time a self-possessed air, she asked me whom I 
would seel I answered, “The professor Johann Von 
Hofrath.” My accent, as I said this, in only tolerable Ger- 
man, made the girl hesitate ; but she presently replied, “ The 
professor will be in soon ; will you be seated ]” I took a 
chair, and she resumed her work. Of course I had little else 
to do but to observe her. I did not neglect the opportunity ; 
and as the image of that young girl has never been effaced 
from my memory — as I have never forgotten her, and never 
shall forget her — I may be excused for pausing to describe 
her appearance. 


SAINT LEGER. 


213 


She was of a little more than the ordinary stature. Her 
figure was slight but exquisite, combining grace with dignity. 
Her complexion was fair, and some light brown hair, in 
ringlets, partly shaded a brow which for intellectual beauty I 
had never seen equalled. 

Her face was not altogether faultless, for the features, al- 
though singularly expressive, were not regular. Her eyes 
were blue, not very large, yet full of intelligence and feeling. 
Beyond all, her unpretending. dignity and self-possession were 
unlike anything I ever beheld. They seemed to be derived 
entirely from a remarkable innocence and purity of heart, 
which rendered the possessor perfectly at ease under any cir- 
cumstances. With what interest did I behold her ! How did 
that interest strengthen and increase, day after day, when I 
came to know her ! But I will not anticipate. 

An hour passed, and the professor came not. Once only 
had the girl spoken, and then but to say that something un- 
usual must have detained her father, who certainly would 
not be long away; and that if I preferred, I could walk 
into the library, where I would find books to entertain me, 
or I could stroll in the garden. As there was no hope in 
either case of any companion, I declined, upon the ground 
that I was fatigued by long journeying and my morning’s walk, 
and that I preferred my seat by the window. I hoped this 
reply might provoke conversation; but she only looked at 
me a moment, in a half-inquiring manner, and then continued 
to ply her needle. 

Another hour passed (it did not seem very long), and I 
heard some one approach the house. In a moment an old 
man entered, with another in his company. I did not doubt 
that my host was before me. I was at once relieved by the 
daughter, who announced him as her father. I handed Herr 
Von Hofrath my letter of introduction. He glanced hastily 


214 


SAINT LEGER. 


at it, and then seized me cordially by the hand, exclaiming : 
“ This, then, is my young Wilhelm ? I have been expecting 
you several days. You are welcome. Here is your home.” 

While he was addressing me, I was hastily surveying his 
appearance. He was of middle stature, with hair as white as 
snow, yet the bright expression of his clear gray eye, the 
ruddy hue upon his cheek, and his almost youthful step, 
showed him in the full possession of his faculties, mental and 
physical, and that he was enjoying in an eminent degree a 
vigorous age. The kind-hearted old man continued to ad- 
dress me words of welcome, which I know came from his 
heart, and which were peculiarly grateful to my feelings. 
At length he stopped, turned quickly around, and addressed 
his companion: “ Wolfgang, this is a young stranger who has 
come to spend a season in our good fatherland. He is from 
England.” 

“ The country of William Shakspere,” replied the other, 
in a deep, rich voice, turning upon me dark, brilliant eyes, 
the expression of which I shall not forget. It was now for 
me to regard the last speaker, whom I had before scarcely 
noticed, so absorbed had I been in Herr Von Hofrath. 
Directing my attention to him, I perceived a man apparent- 
ly not much past thirty, of fine stature, and with an air of 
majestic dignity. His features were symmetrical, but large 
and open. Rarely could so much beauty be found united 
with so much manliness. There was something about him 
which indicated such healthful self-confidence, hopefulness, 
courage, faith, that I was irresistibly drawn toward him. 

“The country of William Shakspere!” — the words 
seemed spoken more to himself than to any one else, as if 
England was especially associated in his mind with Shak- 
spere, and as if the name of Shakspere was to him a talis- 


man. 


SAINT LEGER. 


215 


“ Yes,” replied the professor, “ and my young friend will 
rejoice to find that Germans appreciate the great dramatist.” 

“And I am glad,” said the other, recovering from what 
seemed a revery, “ to welcome an Englishman to our Ger- 
man soil.” 

The stranger bowed courteously as he spoke, and a winning 
smile illuminated his countenance, making him appear still 
more attractive. As yet I bad not heard his name, and I 
waited with a great deal of curiosity for the information. 

“ You have forgotten Theresa, or rather you will not 
recognise your little plaything in that tall girl,” said the pro- 
fessor, “ but I see she remembers you.” 

“ Forgotten her !” said the other, good-humoredly, as he 
advanced toward my new acquaintance, whom he saluted on 
either cheek, while the latter appeared to find in the visi- 
ter an old friend ; “ forgotten her ! I need not deny a 
thing so impossible. Theresa will not believe such slander 
of me.” 

Again I was disappointed. I did not hear the name of the 
Unknown. 

At this moment we were summoned into the next room to 
dinner. It could not have been later than one o’clock. So 
much, thought I, for the simple manners of the nation in which 
I have come to live. I managed to get through with the peculiar 
varieties of a German dinner with a tolerable zest ; but we 
had a far better entertainment than that upon the table. Our 
host was full of animation, and conversed with a lively humor, 
very remarkable in a person of his years. His friend was 
still more remarkable ; for without appearing to do so, he 
went far beyond the professor. Whatever he said came forth 
without the slightest apparent effort ; spontaneously, as if it 
was not to be restrained. I was perfectly amazed, at the 
strange, wild fantasies, at the magnificent thoughts which the 


216 


SAINT LEGER. 


Stranger poured forth one after another without the least 
hesitation. What rapid perception, what keen appreciation, 
what humor, what pathos, what power ! I was sure that I 
was in the presence of a great genius. But who could 
he be ? 

Theresa sat quietly, listening with interest to the con- 
versation, and I too sat with open ears, eager to gather all that 
was said. Questions were frequently put to me by both, 
which I answered as readily as my knowledge of the lan- 
guage would permit. One thing I discovered during the 
conversation : that Herr Von Hofrath was a devout man. 
His remarks indicated this emphatically. A healthful tone 
pervaded all his words, and I knew his thoughts were genu- 
ine. How I loved the noble-hearted old man ! 

Dinner and its appendages over, we returned to the sitting- 
room. The stranger went up to a small table on which sev- 
eral books were lying, and took up one of them. “ Blank 
he exclaimed, turning to Theresa : “ what is this waiting for ?” 

“ For your imprimatur i"* answered the maiden. “ It is to 
be my album. You come in good time to put down the first 
line upon the first page.” She took the book as she spoke, 
opened to the page, and said, “ Proceed.” 

The countenance of the stranger assumed a thoughtfiil 
aspect. He took a pencil, and without hesitation traced the 
following lines. I translate them into English at the expense 
of both beauty and force of expression ; 

"THE ALBUM OF THERESA. 

" ‘ Begun’ and ' Ended,’ two brief words, contain 
The whole of what it is and is to be ; 

Farther than this all prophecy is vain ; 

Our eyes are blinded ; we can not foresee 
The shadowy future ; yet perhaps ’t were well 
On its uncertain incidents awhile to dwell !” 

" Your name ! your name !” said Theresa, as he handed 


SAINT LEGER. 


217 


her back the volume; “ you must seal what you say.” He 
took the book again, and in fair, distinct characters, wrote : 

I had no time to express my admiration or astonishment on 
beholding the rising wonder of Germany; for the professor 
coming up exclaimed : “ Wolfgang, something more Theresa 
will require of you than a half-dozen lines, scored by way of 
imprint on the titlepage. Come, be not a miser of your 
thoughts.” 

The poet took the book again, cast an almost mournful 
smile upon the maiden, and selecting another page, wrote as 
follows : 

“ Strange are the thoughts that swell 
Full in the breast — 

Thoughts that no longer dwell 
Calmly at rest. 

They rise, they rise, be they mournful or glad, 

Like the sum of existence, both joyous and sad ; 

While the thoughtless laugh and sport and are gay, 

The sorrowing heart bleeds afresh every day ; 

Still the whirl goes round and round. 

Now ’t is the happy laugh, then comes the plaintive sound; 

Mingling, mingling joy and sorrow — 

To-day ’t is joy, ’t is w^o to-morrow ; 

And time rolls on, ’till our brief life has passed. 

And the grave closes over all at last.” 

Wolfgang,” said the professor, seriously, after reading 
what the other had written, this is well ; nay, it is beautiful. 
But it is incomplete.” 

Finish it; I pray you finish it,” said Goethe, sadly : “ To 
please your once loved pupil, finish it.” 

The old man, thus invoked, took the album, and leavinfra 
sBort space, continued as follows : 

“ Such is the history of existence ?iere, 

Brief as it is, and incomplete, and vain, 

Not worlli the living for, could we not look 

, Beyond, and grasp existence infinite. 


218 


SAINT LEGER. 


Without the promise of a life to come, 

There's naught indeed to cheer the heart of man, 

For all is dark within and gloom without. 

E’en the brief sunshine of a happy day 
Brings but the thought that when the morrow comes 
Clouds will obscure the whole, and damp tlie joys 
Just rising in the bosom. Is it so ? 

Is life so cheerless ? Is it really naught ? — 

Without the promise, yes ; but, thanks to God, 

The promise stands for ever firm and sure — 

‘ I am the resurrection and the life. 

Believe in me, though dead yet shalt thou live.' 

Existence, then, is not an idle dream, 

If ’t is probation for the life to come ; 

For here we're fitted for another world — 

Fitted for weal or wo — how dread the thought ! 

And now we see why life’s so full of change. 

Of blended shades of joy, and pain, and sorrow ; 

Why we are tried, our bo.soms torn, our hearts 
Broken and crashed ; were there no sorrows here. 

Who would aspire to heaven, or seek the joys 
That flow perennial from the throne of God ? 

Compared with which earth's glories are but drosa 
Blest then be life, mysterious life : and blest 
Be God who gave it ; who created man • 

For wisest purposes. Nor farther ask. 

But humbly seek his favor ; learn of him. 

And if you would be happy, do his will." 

The old man closed the book, and handed it with a solemn 
air to his young friend. The latter read what had been writ- 
ten with serious attention : then turning toward the professor, 
he drew himself up to his full height, and laying his hand im- 
pressively upon the arm of the other, exclaimed with dignity, 
“ Doctor, do not misinterpret me : I believe.” 

XI [. 

1 BELIEVE ! Those words were full of meaning; and in 
every situation, under every tiial, in the midst of scenes the 
most exciting, I have remembered them. Strange to say, the 
first lesson which I learned in Germany, the land of mystical 
philosophy, of wild theories, and of wilder doubts, was Be- 


SAINT LEGER. 


219 


LIEF ; and that too from the most remarkable individual, every 
way considered, of whom Germany could boast. But did 
Goethe believe 7 I will not vouch for it ; I am only confident 
of his assertion that he did ; and T will not think that he was 
a man to palter. But for my purpose it was of no conse- 
quence, so long as the exclamation was evidence of his opin- 
ion. And had I wandered so far to learn the simple lesson 
from him ? Yes. And now, just as the German is ascend- 
ing to his zenith, I, ao many years his junior — I, who have 
had the same glowing energy, the same healthful, hopeful 
ambition, the same unchanging, determined aspirations — I 
must stop short when I have scarce entered the lists. 1 see 
the door closed upon me just as I essay to cross the threshold. 
The pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the wheel is broken 
at the cistern, before a draught of the refreshing waters is 
conveyed to me ; and when the reward of past struggles and 
of present exertions appears to be close at hand, I am called 
away, to be here no more. God forgive me for this mo- 
mentary murmur ! I know that his purposes are true, and 
none can question them. Come then to my aid, O sacred 
F aith, in this moment of my weakness, and give me strength. 
Teach me that although we work here, and know compara- 
tively nothing, yet we live always ; that knowledge is and 
ever has been progressive ; that the soul of man is as capa- 
cious as his aspirations are boundless, and that he has before 
him duration infinite, in which to labor and to Know. 


XIII. 

The professor and his former pupil stood face to face. It 
was a striking picture. I wish I could sketch it. The poet, 
in the exuberant maturity of early manhood, with his open 
brow, his lofty look, and earnest demeanor, in which one 


220 


SAINT LEGER. 


might read much hopefulness and a strong will, great energy 
and an untiring patience, stood self-relying and firm. The 
appearance of the professor was more chastened, more sub- 
dued ; exhibiting equal firmness, with less determination : a 
higher faith, with less self-confidence. Benevolence and every 
Christian virtue were in his countenance. None could mis- 
take its expression. 

At this moment Theresa, who, with myself, had been an 
earnest witness of what was passing, broke the silence ; 
^‘Herr Von Goethe,” she inquired, modestly, but with firm- 
ness, “ do you honor the sacraments 

“ I honor them,” was the serious reply of the poet. 

“ But do you attend upon them, believing in their efficacy V* 

“ All that is holy is efficacious ; all that is Christian is holy,” 
he said. 

Theresa paused, as if not satisfied, then quietly seating her- 
self, resumed her needle. At the same time the professor in- 
vited his guest to walk into the garden, whither they proceeded. 

XIV. 

1 WAS left alone with Theresa. I felt embarrassed ; I knew 
not why; I tried to think what I should say to my new ac- 
quaintance, but could find no utterance for my thoughts. 
To me the silence was continually becoming more awkward, 
when Theresa, looking up from her employment, said : “ The 
gentleman does not care to walk in the garden ; he must be 
fatigued. Indeed,” she continued, changing the person, “ you 
must have had a toilsome journey ; and you have left your 
home, too. But you have friends here in Leipsic ]” 

“ None,” I replied, touched by the simplicity of her man- 
ner ; “ none, unless I may call your father and yourself by 
that title.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


221 


And why may you not ? My father bade you welcome^ 
and by that I know he is your friend. And if he is, then 
am I.” 

There was in this something so peculiar, so different from 
anything I ever before observed in my intercourse with the 
sex, that I was puzzled. Theresa seemed neither diffident 
nor embarrassed ; yet if ever true modesty marked one’s de- 
meanor, it certainly gave character to hers. The more I con- 
sidered, the more I saw to admire ; until I came to the con- 
clusion, which a subsequent acquaintance fully sustained, that 
she was by nature so artless and single-minded — her heart so 
free from guile — that she gave expression to her real feelings, 
and spoke unhesitatingly as she thought. 

“ Were you not unhappy to leave your home and come so 
far 1” 

“No, I was eager to get away.” 

“ Ah ! I perceive,” said Theresa, with seriousness, “ you 
have lost your parents : and absence was a relief.” 

My heart smote me at these words, for I thought of my 
mother. “No, you mistake me ; my parents are both living, 
and I love them dearly.” 

“ And yet you were desirous to leave them V* 

“ I was, though not for the sake of leaving themy 

“ I shall understand you better by-and-by, perhaps,” said 
Theresa. 

“ I am sure of it,” I answered; “so I will only say now 
that I come here to prosecute my studies under the direction 
of your father.” 

“ What course do you commence upon ?” 

“ Philosophy, I think ; for I am deeply interested in the 
great German thinkers.” 

“ A wearisome and unprofitable pursuit,” said the profes- 
sor’s daughter, with an almost oracular tone. 


222 


SAINT LEGER. 


I looked at her, surprised at the remark ; but perceived no 
change from her previous quiet manner. 

“ Why do you say so V* I asked, curious to know how one 
so young could speak upon such a subject with such self-pos- 
session. 

“ Because you will soon become involved in a maze of 
theories ; unsatisfied with one, you will turn to another, and 
then speedily to another ; and so on through the whole, until 
at last you will mock at all, for they will all seem to mock at 
you. I say so, because I witness these things every day : but 
I make you angry,” said Theresa, quickly, seeing my face 
suddenly flushed. “ I have spoken what you do not like ; I 
am sorry.” 

It was indeed true. She Aad spoken what I liked not, and 
my face was flushed, but not from anger. 

XV. 

There are periods in the experience of every individual 
marked by a crisis — sometimes of a moral, sometimes of an 
intellectual, sometimes of a merely physical nature ; but still 
a crisis — when it is suddenly discovered that the advance, 
which we have flattered ourselves we have been for years 
making, is an advance toward ruin ; when, on a sudden, we 
behold, instead of beauty and fair proportion, moral hideous- 
ness and desolation ; instead of the perfection of intellectual 
attainment, an intellect oblique, and perverted, and abandoned ; 
when, instead of a physical frame, full of life, and health, and 
strength, we discover the slow but certain approach of the in- 
sidious enemy, disease. I am sure that every one who may 
read this page, will recognise, if not in all, yet in some part 
of what I have here put down, judgments which his own ex- 
perience will confirm. And in the cases 1 have mentioned, 


SAINT LEGER. 


223 


how very suddenly does the light break upon us ; and then 
how unerring and how plain are our convictions — how un- 
mistakeable is our situation — how we wonder at our blind- 
ness, at our stupidity, in not earlier discovering it ! And it is 
not by any uncommon incident that we are awakened to a 
sense of our position. The merest trifle, the most unimpor- 
tant occurrence, a word, lightly spoken, breaks the spell, and 
the scene is changed! 


XVI. 

Instantaneously I awoke, as from a dream. A fearful 
reality, which I dreaded to encounter, frowned forbiddingly 
upon my life’s fancies, and suddenly they were no more. 
“ You will mock at all, for they all will seem to mock at you. 
I say so, because I witness these things every day I” Had the 
learned professor, or the great Goethe, or any distinguished 
philosopher, closed an eloquent discourse with this sentence, 
I doubt if it would have affected me. I should have regarded 
it as a part of the system of the lecturer to utter such a warn- 
ing ; but to hear from the lips of the young Theresa so strong, 
so earnest, yet so simple an argument, in language so clear 
and forcible, without the least appearance on her part of as- 
sumption or display, had the extraordinary effect upon me which 
I have just described. It seemed like the voice of an angel 
pronouncing against me. I had wandered from my fatherland 
in search of wisdom, and was I to receive such a lesson from 
this maiden j Were the teachings of all the learned doctors to 
be set at naught for so simple a remedy? With the haughty 
Syrian, I was ready to exclaim : “ Are not Abana and Phar- 
par, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel ? 
May I not wash in them, and be clean V* 

I felt the impotence of the question before I could myself 


224 


SAINT LEGER. 


frame a response. At a distance how had I regarded the 
great German thinkers ! Close at hand, in very communion 
with them, how did she, the young Theresa, regard them 
What a comment did the answer to this question involve \ 
The words of the apostle now glowed before me : “ Beware 
lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit.” 
But if I gave up all hold upon my philosophy, I was lost. I 
had no other resource ; T could go nowhere else. 

XVII. 

These thoughts passed like lightning through my brain. 
One minute had ticked slowly away, and the revolution was 
complete. Theresa sat regarding me with wonder. She 
could easily see that something had powerfully affected me ; 
but farther all was a mystery. Her voice brought me back 
to myself. 

“What have I said? — what mistake have I made? — why 
are you displeased ?” she said. 

As calmly as I could, I assured her I was not displeased, 
but suddenly indisposed, in a way I would hereafter explain ; 
and, pleading fatigue, attempted to take my leave, that I might 
revisit my hotel. The professor at this moment came in with 
his guest, and positively forbade my doing so. “ Your apart- 
ment has been ready for you these two weeks, and if my 
young friend is indisposed, he may go to it at once.” 

I was glad to accept his offer. I was shown to a neat and 
delightfully situated chamber, where everything was prepared 
with a due regard to comfort and convenience. I felt too 
agitated to think more at present. Besides, I was really 
weary. Early as it was, I drew the curtains and got into my 
bed. I fell into a disturbed and uneasy slumber, which lasted 
well into the following morning* 


RA.INT LEGER. 


225 


XVIII. 

I DID not awake until a late hour. The day was fine, and 
looking from my window, I found the view delightful. The 
house was nearly surrounded by an extensive garden, in taste- 
ful walks and labyrinths, at the extremity of which was a 
summer-house. As I enjoyed the prospect, I saw Theresa 
coming down an avenue, accompanied by her distinguished 
guest. They were in close and apparently interesting con- 
versation, although I could not perceive anything peculiar in 
the manner of either. The former maintaino'^ her modest 
self-possession ; the latter the same noble and dignified de- 
meanor. He stopped often to examine the most minute things, 
to which he would call the attention of his companion. Now 
the variegated colors of a strange flower would arrest his 
steps ; he would then pause, and regard with singular scru- 
tiny the movements of a spider which had woven his mesh 
across the path : perhaps a butterfly would next attract him, 
or a bird upon the wing, or an insect in the air. Nothing 
seemed to escape his observation, and nothing appeared un- 
worthy of it. Presently the two turned and entered the 
house. I hastened down, and in answer to the kind inquiries 
of all, was happy to declare myself “ much better in every 
way.” 


XIX. 

I HAD determined to explain to Theresa the cause of my 
singular conduct the previous evening, and was in hopes that 
she would make allusion to it. She did not, however, but 
15 


226 


SAINT LEGER. 


widently avoided it; doubtless with a design to save my 
feelings. After breakfast, the professor and his guest went 
out together ; the former apologizing to me for the seeming 
neglect, on the ground that his engagements for the day were 
imperative. I know not why, but I dreaded to be left alone 
with Theresa. She, however, appeared desirous to prevent 
the time from becoming irksome to me. She asked me no 
questions, but herself started topics for conversation. 

“ I have received a gift this morning,” she remarked ; 
“ something you would be curious to see ; and I think I may 
show it to you, although it is not to be made public. It is 
well known that our friend Goethe has been a long time en- 
gaged upon a tragedy, and that he has now nearly com- 
pleted it. Last night he added, or rather inserted, a scene 
in it, and he was kind enough to give me a transcript, declar- 
ing that it was half mine.” 

So saying, Theresa produced the manuscript, remarking : “ I 
believed you would be interested to read it, and here it is.” 

The thoughts were evidently suggested by what had passed 
the day previous. What power of appropriation has that 
man ! As it forms a part of the same subject, I insert it here; 
although it may seem a departure from the plan I have thus 
far pursued, it is not really so. I copy it in the German. A 
translation would spoil its beauty : 

aWargarcte. SScrfpnc^ mir .^cinvtc^j ! 

SaujI. Sffias fann! 

^fflavgavete. 5Ilim fag’, hjie l^afl 2)u’S mit bcr 0leltgion? 

5)u btfl ein l^erjltc^ guter 9JJann, 

5lllcin icb glaub’, 3)u baltft mdjt btel babon. 

Saujl. Safi bag, mein Mixihl bin T)tr gut; 

Silt metu Sieben l{c§ teb Seib unb S3Iut, 

2BiU niemanb fein @efut)l unb feiuc .Sitvci^c raubcu. 
aiiargarctf. 5)ag tfl n-c^t rcci^t, man mu^ b’ran glaubeu! 

^aufl. man? 

3Jiarg arete. 5l(b! menu icb etmas auf fbnnte! 

25 u e^vit auc^ ni^t ble ^eiltgen Saframente. 

^aufl. 3^^ ebre fte. 


SAINT LEGBlt 


227 


a r 1 ] a r c f <. o^nc ^Scvlangca. 

3ur 'IJieffe, juv iBeic^te bifl 3!)u langc mc^t Qfgangcn. 
(5)laubfl Tu an ®ott? 

Sauft. aWetn Siebc^cn, wee barf fagen, 

3d; fliaub’ an ®ott? 

^riefier ober iffietfc fiagen, 

Unb tbve 5lntwort f^cint nur <Spott 
Ueber ben ^ager ju fei;n. 
iUiargarete. ©o glaubfl 2)u m4»t? 

Sanfi. 3Ri^ber inic^ nicbt 2)tt ^clbe« Slagcftcbtf 
2Ber barf ibn nennen? 

Uub wer befennen: 

3cb glaub’ tbn. 

2Ber empfinben? 

Unb ft(b unterwinben 
Su fagen: 3cb g^anb’ ibn nic^i. 

S)cr ^Humfaffer, 

‘Der 9lllcrbaUcr, 
i^a^t unb erbalt er niebt 
micb, ftcb felbjl? 

S03blbt ber ^immei ntebt babroben? 

Siegt bte S'rbe niebt bierunten feji? 

Unb jleigen fieunbitcb bltcfenb 
(Swige (Sterne ni^t berauf? 

©dbnu teb ntebt Slug’ tn Sluge 2)tr, 

Unb breingt niebt SlUeS 
Sdacb ^aupt unb ^erjen 2>tr, 

Unb webt tn ewigem ©ebctntntfi 
Unfiebtbar ftcbtbar neben 2)ir? 

@rfull’ ba»on ®etn ^erj, fe grop eS tfl, 

Unb wenn 5)u ganj in bem ©cfirble feltg bifl, 

Slenn’ e8 bann, wic 2)u wiUfI, 

Sflcnn’g ®Iu(f ! ^erj ! Siebc ! ®ott! 

3^ bat>« Mnen Sflamen 
Kaffir 1 ©efiibl ifl SlUcS; 

Jlatur ifl ©cbalt unb fRaucb, 

Umnebelnb ^immelSglut. 

STOargarete. ?DaS ifl alleS rc^t febon unb gut; 

Ungefcibi^ fugt baS ber ^Pfarrer audb» 

9^ur mit cin SBiSeben anbern SQSorten. 

^aufl. fagen’8 aUet Drten 

Sllle «§erjett untcr bem biwmliftbcn ICage, 

3ebe8 in feiner (Spracbe; 

SBarum nidbt in ber meinen? 

sjjlargarcte. 2Benn man’3 fo botl» moebt’S leiblicb fdbetnen, 
(Stebt aber bocb immer febief barunt; 

IDenn bu bafl fein 
Saufl. ?ieb’« .^inb! 


228 


SAINT LEGEK. 


Here was the dreaded subject back again. I felt that I 
had not strength to grapple with it, for I knew how futile was 
the contest. I determined if possible to give my mind some 
repose ; at least for a few days. After expressing my thanks, 
therefore, for the perusal of the manuscript, I asked Theresa 
if she would not take a stroll with me in the Rosenthal. She 
assented, and thither we proceeded. 

Note. — Tlie Editor of Mr. Saint Leger’s memoirs trusts that he will find favor 
with his less literate readers, by appending a translation of the preceding extract, 
from the excellent prose version of “ F aust” hy Mr. Hayward. 

Margaret. Promise me, Henry ! 

Faust. What I can. 

Margaret. Now, tell me : how do you feel as to religion? You are a dear, 
good man, but I believe you don’t think much of it. 

Faust. No more of that, my child ! you feel I love you r I would lay down 
my life for those I love, nor would I deprive any of their feeling and their church . 

Margaret. That is not right ; we must believe in it. 

Faust. Must we ? 

Margaret. Ah ! if I had any influence over yon ! Besides, you do- not honor 
the holy sacraments. 

Faust. I honor them. 

Margaret. But without desiring them. It is long since you went to mass 
or confession. Do you believe in God ? 

Faust. My love, who dares say “ I believe in God ?” You may ask priests 
and philosophers, and their answer will appear but a mockery of the questioner. 

Margaret. You don’t believe, then ? 

Faust. Mistake me not, thou lovely one! Who dare name him? and who 
avow: “ I believe in him?’" Who feel — and dare to say: “ I believe in him 
not ?” The All-embracer, the All-sustainer, does he not embrace and sustain 
thee, me, himself? Does not the heaven arch itself there above ? Lies not the 
earth firm here below ? And do not eternal stars rise, kindly twinkling, on high ? 
Are we not looking into each other's eyes, and is not all thronging to thy head 
and heart, and weaving in etemal mystery, invisibly — visibly, about thee? 
With it fill thy heart, big as it is ; and when thou art wholly blest in the feeling, 
tlien call it what thou wilt ! Call it Bliss ! — Heart ! — Love ! — God ! I have 
no name for it ! Feeling is all in all. Name is sound and smoke, clouding 
heaven’s glow. 

Margaret. That is all veiy fine and good. The priest says nearly the 
same, only with somewhat different words. 

Faust. All hearts in all places under the blessed light of day say it, each in 
its own language ; why not in mine ? 

Margaret. Thus taken, it may pass ; bqt, for all that, there is something 
wrong about it, for thou hast no Christianity. 

Faust. Dear child! 


END OF BOOK SECOND. 




B 0 0 K I I I. 

’Atr’ ojiyLaroi peXei (pi\oiKT(0, 

UpiTTOvad O' wf ev yj^a^aiy, irpoffevviireiv 
Qe\ov(J' 

^scHTLus, Agamem, 2^3 

The trembling lustre of her dewy eyes. 

Their grief-impassioned souls controlling ; 

That ennobled, modest grace, 

Which the mimic pencil tries 
In the imaged form to trace. 

The breathing picture shows. 


EtV^opai 6' an tjnig rt 
'EXniSog ipvOn neaciv 
’Ey TO pil Ts'\ea(p6pov. 

Ibid., 969. 

Return, oh faith, thy seat resume. 

Dispel this melancholy gloom. 

And to my soul thy radiant light impart. 


: . ■ '.a.-., - 

i . . , . ; - ,.,-i •' 1 

• • - ■ -■ >? ” u 

. ' • N: ' ■ 

■ ' y ;■ - ■ 

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v>*1 

.-♦v* •■- y ',<• -i ">*■“-; .- r'^i 

'' ' ‘ ? rtUi-- .. *Xi*^*- .. ' • Tjt * 

A- .- 

w; ., ' ^ .^^ ■: 

Ur: -vrkitdrp 

• •* ”, . ■ ■ ’' ‘^ • • * r- 1 

- V ' • ■ ‘ '.• ■>, r ^ ... ^ •• ■ 

. A-.-k K ‘.I ' ■' - ^ . -,s 

n,' ^ '. -r»';tj?,A.^v■. V. ' .... ^^5 

'. i* * . 

1 * * . • . 

-•, -1 ..^>.»- ^ ; . . 

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.h.VV.:. ;:r^ 1. „:.C/7f V.:. .r ,/>/ • 

' .'t '.- , .>• . •, .•.. ’f 

vr . . , L. ■' ■ 

**• ■' '*•'* 

"*' ■ ' ' ' ■ V. / (» 

, ■' ' ■ .y:-^ _ ,* 

-I ;• • , ■ - • V., '-, V 

'Jyl- 'i / '■ ’ 

?■• ' ■ ; ■■ ‘v - ;■ 


BOOK THIRD. 


I. 

Theresa Von Hofrath ! how can I delineate thy charac- 
ter — how can I approach thee, sweet, gentle, heavenly 
Theresa ! A sacred awe comes over me, a mysterious re- 
luctance pervades my spirit, as I bring back the recollection 
of the days passed with thee. And shall I again summon 
those fond associations, and recall those happy hours ? Can 
I bear to dwell upon them, and live them over % It is 
an agonizing happiness — a blissful torture ! 


II. 

I AM calm, nevertheless, as I pencil these words — 
very calm. Why should I not be calm The days of the 
years of my life are numbered ; but the allotment is universal, 
and not to be dreaded. “ Birth” and “ Death” are words 
merely. “ Change and change” define them. Even now I 
see the world recede ; but I carry myself about with me 
wherever I am transported. Therefore hath Memory her 
portion in my immortality. 

Yes, I am calm when I speak of Theresa Von Hofrath. 
Why should I not be calm ? In her gentle conduct, in her 
quiet life, in the mild dignity of her nature, in her child- 
like simplicity, in her deep, unwavering faith, what is 


232 


SAINT LEGER. 


there, I ask, in the recollection of all these, to make my heart 
beat the quicker, or cause my pulse to fluctuate with an un- 
wonted trembling] Yes, I am calm; very calm ! 

III. 

Theresa Von Hofrath, under God, thou didst save my 
soul ! Without thee I had been lost. Yes, I see the precipice 
over which I was hastening. I see thy hand extended to 
save. Which, which shall it be] A plunge — a struggle — 
death ; or a turning aside — a conflict — everlasting life ] 

Shall I see thee never more, Theresa] Shall thy deep, 
earnest, soul -absorbing eyes never again meet mine ] never 
again ! Shall heart and soul never again beat in sympathy with 
heart and soul, never again revel in the ecstatic elysium of a 
new communion ] 

I WILL NOT believe it, although a god should declare it to 
me. Sooner will I believe that heart and soul and God are 
nothing. 

IV. 

Be still, rebellious tempter. Dare not to disturb the calm 
current of my thoughts. Down, ye mocking suggestions. 
Away, ye dark, thick, brooding fancies — hence, all ! all ! 
At any rate, your time is not yet. The mysterious union 
of body and spirit still is, though faintly indeed does Vitality 
in me perform her office ; but the wheel is not yet broken : 
I am at the helm still ! therefore, Doubt, thou supple, cow- 
ard slave of evil, avaunt ! 

I WILL that I believe. 

I DO believe ! 


SAINT LEGER- 


233 


V. 

Why have I to fight this battle over and over? Wliy this 
never-ceasing, never-ending wrestling, not with flesh and 
blood only, but with principalities, with powers, with the 
rulers of darkness of this world, with the spiritual powers of 
evil in the heavens ?” 

Have, then, spirits of evil this power to assail us? Would 
that I were convinced of it ! for though thronged by a myriad 
of fiends, I could glory in the contest ; joyfully could strug- 
gle with anything, with all things, out of myself ; but to find 
my enemy within my gates ; to cherish in my bosom the viper 
that stings me ; to be forced to keep it there^ yet keep it un- 
der — ah, that is the fearfiil fight! 

Sfiy (j>an£v, 'ddavoTog iariv fi TOiavTt), Kat (pv^aKrjs ffavf/affrfjg Seofievr) ? 

The world beyond is the world of reality ; this, the world 
of shadows and of images. Yet to take leave of this commo- 
dious frame-work ; to step out alone and unattended upon 

thy journey to where ? Has the thought no terror ? 

Does it not bring an inner shuddering ? No. If doth 'I 


Well, what was I to do, now that I was upon German 
ground, and at Leipsic ? I first determined to know what 
was going on among the young men. Poor wretch, how I 
stood, beating my head against the wall, without being able to 
burst through the adamantine gates that kept me a prisoner ! 
How I longed to break the shell and get at the kernel — how 


234 


SAINT LEGER. 


I Struggled to come into the light, out of this darkness ! I 
am aware that a class of persons will inquire : “ What was 

the matter with this youth ? Had he not kind friends, bright 
prospects, health, vigor, and sufficiency of wealth ? What 
did he want 1” My only answer to such is, I labor but for 
those who sympathize in my narrative ; and if in the detail of 
this true experience I come in the slightest degree to the as- 
sistance of kindred minds, struggling in similar contest, I am 
content. 

I was eager then for some explanation of what was ; I 
longed to know. Had the alternative been placed before me, 
as before the first man, “ In the day thou eatest thereof thou 
shalt surely die,” I should have incurred the penalty without 
aid of the tempter serpent or the woman. My previous in- 
tercourse with the world had thrown no light upon the mys- 
tery of living. I had thus far seen everything under con- 
straint. Even my wild excursion to St. Kilda, the memory 
of which I dearly cherished, did not help me in the difficult 
point. Like the child who must break his bauble to find out 
how it is put together, so I proceeded to break in pieces the 
patchwork which makes up society and composes what is 
ordinarily called life. 

'What youth has not experienced a chilling sensation when 
first introduced, after leaving home, to a circle of acquaint- 
ances, whose very cheerfulness depresses him, and whose 
stirring but welcome greeting causes his heart to sink low 
down in his breast ! But I had no such feelings. So great 
was my curiosity to make acquaintance with things as they 
were, without the restraint, I may say, of God or man, upon 
my thoughts and actions, that this was the absorbing desire 
of my soul. After all, considering the recluse life I had led, 
and the strong passions which were seeking development 
within me, this could not be wondered at. 


SAINT LEGER. 


235 


VII. 

I LIVED with Herr Von Hofrath. I had a quiet apartment, 
with a pleasant prospect from the window, and the large and 
well-selected library of the professor afforded abundant oc- 
cupation when I was disposed to read. He himself was at all 
times a cheerful as well as an instructive companion. 

The first feeling that I enjoyed was a sense of freedom. 
Not the slightest restriction was put on me. The professor 
conversed with and advised me, started new ideas, awoke in 
my mind new trains of thought ; but he did not attempt to 
fetter me ; he laid down no rules ; insisted upon no condi- 
tions ; prescribed no limits. He proceeded to point out what 
course I should adopt, and what lecturers it was wisest to fol- 
low. When he saw he had made a suggestion not to my 
taste, he forbore to press it, but turned to something else ; 
there was no dictation, no air of superior knowledge or intel- 
ligence. He treated me as a fellow-laborer, not as a child ; 
and while he gave me, with the most unaffected simplicity, 
the benefit of his experience, he would always congratulate 
me that I was young, and had the years of my life in expecta- 
tion. The importance thus given to living, had a wholesome 
effect upon me, .for I beheld in the professor a bright exam- 
ple of it. 

I was not long in making friends with a good number of 
my fellow students. My several acquirements, purchased by 
years of severe study, stood me in good part. I could con- 
verse fluently in many of the modern languages, and thanks 
to De Lisle, was well acquainted with ancient literature. At 
that time, there was scarcely an Englishman at Leipsic. This 
of itself enabled me to make acquaintances readily, for being 


236 


SAINT LEGER. 


looked upon with rather an inquisitive eye, the young men 
were willing enough to gratify their curiosity, while they 
could at the same time show civility to the object of it. 

So I soon came to feel at home, wherever I was, and then 
I went to work at my old lesson, the what and the why. 
My first marvel was to witness the strange way the mad fel- 
lows who called themselves students, lived. The apparent 
contradiction in their actions from one hour to another, and 
the singular mixture of chaos and order in all they undertook, 
struck me as inexplicable. Young men who were engaged 
over night in the wildest dissipation, I beheld the next morn- 
ing seriously engrossed by an ethical lecture from Von Ho- 
frath, or engaged upon some abstruse subject, requiring the 
most patient and attentive consideration. They would take 
full notes of every lecture, and afterward rewrite them in 
order. The wildest and most blasphemous opinions were 
freely bandied and discussed, and even when considered un- 
tenable, were not altogether reprobated. 

Everything seemed in a formative state. Darkness brood- 
ed, while light illumined. The good and the evil, the sen- 
sual and the spiritual, the sacred and the sinful, were 
jumbled, discussed, pulled in pieces, and put together. Still 
nothing came of it, so far as I could see. Then I asked my- 
self, What are they doing ] — to what end are they living 1 — 
what will come to pass out of this % 


VIII. 

Among the students was one Friedrich Kauffmann, a na- 
tive of Breslau. This young man happened to meet me 
immediately after my arrival in Leipsic, and without intro- 
duction on either side we became acquainted and were friends. 

His appearance first attracted me toward him. He was 


SAINT LEGER. 


237 


about twenty years old : his stature rather below the ordi- 
nary height; his chest and shoulders large and unwieldy; 
his countenance, though thoroughly German, animated. Light 
brown hair, inclined somewhat to curl, fell negligently over 
his forehead, the only beautiful feature he possessed, and that 
was indeed beautiful. Imagination and wit, reflection and the 
power of analysis, honesty and singleness of purpose, were all 
expressed in the clear outline. His face was ordinary ; his 
eyes blue — not handsome, but expressive. To look at him, 
one would suppose that he had a head, or rather a forehead, 
that did not belong to him. Not that his other features were 
ugly or unexpressive, but because that was so perfect. 

This Friedrich Kauflmann was honest. Before Heaven I 
believe it. He was an enthusiast without being a hypocrite, 
or self-deceived. He knew always what he was doing, but 
he was still an enthusiast. I could trust to Kauflmann, and we 
learned to like each other. I do not mean that I confided in 
him ; my bitter disappointment with De Lisle had taught me 
a lesson ; besides, with me the day had passed for all that ; but 
I could talk and compare views, and reason, with my new 
friend, and hear him in return with real satisfaction, for I 
knew he spoke ingenuously. 

There was a club at that time in Leipsic, called “ The 
Free Speakers.” It embraced but twelve members in all. 
They met almost every evening at an appointed rendezvous, 
and uttered, or professed to utter, what was in their minds. 
Their motto was, 

•‘Evil unspoken breeds evil. 

Good unspoken is barren.'’ 

Friedrich Kauffmann was the originator and leading spirit 
of the society. We had not been long together before he 
urged me to join it. It was a select and sacred circle of true 


238 


SAINT LEGER. 


men, he said, and he could in no way show his friendship for 
me so much as to ask me to make one in it. I did not relish 
this open principle of the club, provided indeed one was real- 
ly honest and lived up to it. On the other hand my curiosity 
prevented me from altogether declining the offer. “ Tell me 
first,” said I, “ what do you mean by 

•^‘Evil unspoken breeds evil. 

Good unspoken is harrenV 

I had supposed that half the victory was gained over our- 
selves when we confined our evil thoughts to our bosoms.” 

“Not so,” answered Kauffmann with earnestness: “Give 
your evil thoughts so much as a place to harbor, and they will 
spin their slimy meshes over the fine framework and around 
the delicate tendrils of your heait and lay their eggs there, 
and these will hatch and breed, while you, their miserable 
victim, dare not let them out for lack of courage, or for fear 
of harm they will do toothers. No; turn out the unclean 
spirits, and if you choose, pray for some herd of swine, that 
they may enter into them, and let the whole brood run vio- 
lently down a steep place into the sea and be choked.” 

“ But is it not enough that I drag these forward into my 
own presence and there pass sentence upon them ? Are not 
others made worse by the knowledge that I have within me 
so much that is unworthy T’ 

“ No, Saint Leger, it is not enough ; you can not rid your- 
self in this way. What says your Shakspere : 

“ '■May one be pardoned, and retain the offence?' 

“Summon the culprits into your own view. Nay, banish 
them, as you try to persuade yourself you have done” — 

“ Heaven should be my witness to that,” interrupted I. 

“ Ay, Heaven in thy mouth, but in thy heart — the evil still 
grows and bristles and swells ; but say it out, with the honest 


SAINT LEGER. 


239 


purpose of riddance, to true sympathizers, to manly men. 
Yet stay; let me explain myself more calmly. 

“ I take it for granted that you have evil in you. Whether 
much or little, it matters not ; how it came there it matters 
not ; when it came, it matters not ; that is, not for my argu- 
ment. Now your moral sense (never mind about a definition 
for that either) — your moral sense condemns the evil ; while 
your baser sense tempts you to the practice. I do not advo- 
cate a dissemination of your evil thoughts, neither do I advise 
an indiscriminate out-speaking of them to whomever you 
chance to meet ; nor a mere babbling of words, without thought 
or reflection, even to a friend. For to disseminate evil, be- 
cause it is in you, is monstrous ; to open your heart to the 
simple or the scorner, is folly ; to utter words without mean- 
ing, is idiocy. But I do advise to the selection of friends who 
have a kindred purpose ; who shall be searchers after Truth, 
and with such to be a free speaker. Call it a confessional, if 
you will ; save that the confessions are mutual, which of itself 
alters their character. Yet believe me, the effect upon the 
heart is ennobling. The good we utter is, by that act, made 
permanent within us, white it enriches those to whom we im- 
part it. The evil we boldly bring to light and expose, by 
that act, perishes, while it has no power to corrupt. There- 
fore we gather strength, instead of betraying weakness, when 
we speak out to friendly minds what is in our hearts.’^ 

“ But is there not danger,” said I, “ that in a society like 
yours, there will grow up a purpose of display, ralher than 
of open ingenuous speech ? Would it not be well to select 
one friend for such an object? and,” I added, for the sake of 
provoking further discussion, “ would it not be b(3tter that 
that one should be of the softer sex ?” 

Foolish of heart,” exclaimed Kauffinann, “ that can not 
understand ; or else, which I the rather judge, oh, perverse 


240 


SAINT LEGER. 


of mind ! that will not ; be it known that in the intercourse of 
two minds only (which is your first suggestion) there is in- 
duced a moral and intellectual covetousness — I call it by 
that name, having no better at hand — since what is uttered 
by either, whether of good or of evil, is not out-spoken, but 
confided. The friends get to be confidants, and selfishness 
of purpose gradually becomes paramount in both. The 
good is approved, to be sure, but it is at the same time 
hoarded up for use on proper occasions, while, if the truth 
were known, the evil is served much the same way.” 

“ Well,” said I, “ what say you to my second suggestion, 
the selection of one of the other sex ?” 

Are you jesting with me, fellow-student?” 

“ No.” 

Do you seriously ask whether, instead of healthful inter- 
course with manly intellects, it is not better to select for the 
object a woman, or some mawkish love-sick girl ? Why, a 
woman will make for you a very holy sentiment out of a wick- 
ed reality, and a kind of divine beatitude out of a wicked 
sentiment. She will bid you cherish your sins, so long as they 
be daring, high-wrought, and have a smack of the super- 
sensual about them ; so long as you will lisp your confessions 
into her ear. Nay, say to a woman that you are a devil in- 
carnate, and she will beg you to be a devil still, so long as you 
are a very valiant devil, and belong to her. Saint Leger, re- 
member what I tell you ; trust in men. Not to one, in con- 
fidence, but open your heart to true hearts. Dare to seem 
what you are. Resolve to be what you seem. Above all things 
deceive not yourself. It is the part of a fiend to deceive an- 
other; it is the part of both fiend and fool to practise a self- 
deception.” 

As Kauffmann finished speaking his eyes flashed, his chest 
expanded, and his whole frame appeared agitated by the in- 


SAINT LEGER. 


241 


tensity of his emotions. I took no notice of his excitement, 
but after musing a moment, replied quietly : 

“ My friend, I am not disposed to deny anything you have 
said, nor yet can I say I am ready to give entire acquiescence 
thereto. The discussion will do me good. I am ready for it, 
carry it where you will, say in it what you will. ‘What man 
dare, I dare for I believe the maxim of one of your poets, 
that we arrive at truth through extremes, and that we must 
first exhaust error, and often madness, before we can reach 
the bright goal of peaceful wisdom. But tell me, Kauffmann 
— and remember that I want truth in your reply, for I think 
I have discovered in you one foible which it is the part of 
friendship to point out — tell me, have you not had some se- 
rious love-passage ere now % I believe you have. Your 
friend could not be brought to think as you did. You felt 
that she was bound t;p do so. You became angi’y ; you acted 
foolishly; you lost her.” 

“ You have hit the nail upon the head,” interrupted the 
student, with a forced laugh ; “ not another blow ; it is driven 
deep enough.” 

“Yet let the circumstance teach you a lesson,” I continued; 
“ if we really seek for and worship the Beautiful and the 
Good, and the Just — TO KAAON, TO AFAGON, TO AIKAION 
— why insist upon our doing this in one beaten way, accord- 
ing to one prescribed formula, by one fixed course of thought 
or reasoning 1 So long as we reach the goal, why wrangle 
with each other about the different routes or means of con- 
veyance ? Is not the harmony of souls a higher point to at- 
tain than the unison of souls ? We must not claim that others 
should think with our thoughts ; it is mu^ch happier if their 
thoughts harmonize with ours. Therefore be arbitrary with 
no one except yourself.” 

“No more now,” replied Kauffmann; “we shall do each 

16 


242 


SAINT LEGER. 


Other good. Think of my proposition for our society. I will 
see you to-morrow. Nay, not to-morrow,” he continued, 
thoughtfully; “ not to-morrow, hut the day after. Good-by !” 

We separated, and I walked slowly to the Rosenthal. This 
was my first serious conversation with a fellow-student, and 
my mind by the exercise acquired a more healthful tone. 
Others beside myself, then, were tortured by doubts and 
anxieties, with speculations and vague surmises. I was not 
in the wilderness alone. My heart beat with a stronger con- 
fidence ; the weight upon it was a little lightened. 


IX. 

Before the door of Herr Von Hofrath I met Theresa. 
A-lthough we were living in the same house, I had but little 
:)pportunity of becoming intimate with her during the first 
days of my sojourn, in consequence of the many things which 
required my attention, and kept me nearly all the time in the 
town. Besides the girl had her own round of duties, and was 
not always visible when I might wish to see her. As I ap- 
proached the threshold, she advanced a few steps to meet me. 
The sight of her gave me a pleasure, I could scarcely account 
for, and dispelled in a moment the effect of Kauffmann’s philip- 
pic. Was it not strange ! How, on a sudden does the young 
pulse quicken ! how does it falter ! What a slight thing will 
disturb its equipoise ! How different from the calm, unruffled, 
measured beat of the experienced heart, which only seeks 
repose ! 

Theresa advanced to meet me. “ I hoped you would have 
returned early,” ^e said. “ My father and myself weie in- 
vited to visit a friend at some little distance. We wished 
you to go, for you would have met many scholars ; it is now 
t»o late.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


243 


“ But why did you remain V* 

“ I thought the empty house would make you melancholy; 
for you have no home-feeling here.” 

“ I love to be alone, and to feel solitary and homeless,” 
said I, abruptly. I do not know what put the words into my 
mouth, or why I spoke as I did. There is a perversity which 
besets us sometimes, when speaking to a woman whom we 
regard; we say rude things when our feelings are gentle, 
and cruel things when our hearts are tender. Theresa look- 
ed full at me, in her placid, earnest manner, and asked ; 
“ Why ?” 

I felt convicted of a falsehood. I stood abashed for a mo- 
ment, and then replied, carelessly enough : “ I do not know.” 

After this, neither spoke for several minutes. The pause 
was becoming awkward, but I could not break it. Theresa 
asked in her calm, quiet tone, “Are all Englishmen like you?” 

“ If they are, you are ready to pronounce them very dis- 
agreeable.” 

“ No, but I feel disappointed.” 

“Why?” 

“ My father has always described the English character in 
a way that made me pleased with it, and ” 

“ I will not force you to finish the -sentence,” said I, bitter- 
ly (what right had I to feel bitterly, instead of the young girl 
whose feelings I was wounding by my rudeness ?) “ I will 

finish it for you. You are sorry that the specimen you be- 
hold ill me should not agree with the description.” 

“ And yet,” said Theresa, without appearing to hear my 
remark, “ it was of your father that my father used to speak ; 
and I thought we should be fiiends.” 

“ For my own sake I shall regret it if we are not,” was my 
cold reply ; and I turned and entered the house, leaving her 
still near the door. 


244 


SAINT LEGER. 


X. 

The twilight approaches. Now it deepens into the gloam- 
ing. Still the young girl stands where I left her. How do 1 
know 1 Have I not stolen to my window, and, looking through 
the casement, watched Theresa with an indefinable uneasy 
apprehension ? She moves not : she does not advance : she 
does not retreat : she does not turn : she does not seem to 
stir. 

Of what is she thinking ? Beneath that imperturbable pla- 
cidity has that young creature any feeling ? If she has, how 
could she, so young, obtain the mastery over herself? Per- 
haps she is soulless ; clear and pellucid as a crystal ; not 
heartless, but without a heart. But then that eye, Theresa ! 
Not so loud ! she will hear me. How strange that her calm- 
ness should have such power upon me ! Did she look re- 
proachfully ? Of what am I talking % I have done nothing. Is 
it singular, when the evening is so lovely, that a maiden should 
stand a few moments in the open air ? Perhaps she expects 
a friend. It is so — I. have it. But then she “hoped we 
should be friends” — and I replied that “ I should regret it if 
we were not.” That was very proper. And I came away, 
for I was fatigued. Yes, I am fatigued. See ! she turns to 
come in ; will she raise her eyes to my window % If she does, 
I will speak to her. I will, positively. She does not. She 
has entered the house. 


XI- 

There are times when, as if awaking from oblivion, the 
thoughts and associations of a former epoch reappear— 


SAINT LEGER. 


245 


Strangely, like the shadows of the departed — and awhile ten- 
ant anew the soul ; not, indeed, as lawful possessors, hut as 
timid visitants, ready to start at the first alarm, and disappear 
as suddenly and mysteriously as they came : as some unfor- 
tunate, forced from his early home, now fallen into other 
hands, steals back, after a season, unobserved, and pensively 
wanders over the abode once so friendly, but which can no 
longer afford him a permanent shelter. 

How tangible and real are these images. At the moment 
I commenced this page, the evening with Theresa came before 
me with so startling a vividness, that I involuntarily referred 
to it as something now occurring. Here was the window ; 
there stood Theresa ; beyond, across those meadows, was the 
town ; this way, the pleasant walk toward the river. Were I 
a painter, I had not let the scene glide from me ; fading, 
fading — so! I am no longer in the Rosenthal. Theresa is 
not beneath my window. But I am in the house of my fathers. 
This ig the room in which I most delighted when a boy. I 
go on with my narrative, but must draw upon memory for the 
detail. 


XII. 

I HARDLY know why it was, but I expected when I went 
down to breakfast the next morning to see Theresa exhibit 
some constraint of manner toward me. But here again I was 
disappointed. She received me with the same gentleness, the 
same unaffected quietness, that had before marked her de- 
meanor. For myself, I was piqued because she did not ap- 
pear disturbed. I soon grew ashamed of so ungenerous a 
weakness, and reproached myself for harboring a sentiment 
so unworthy. Then I questioned myself of Theresa, but could 
summon no answer — none whatever ; I only determined to 


246 


SAINT LEGER. 


seek her friendship, and ask her what she really was : for it 
seemed as if I could never make the discovery. After break- 
fast I proposed a walk to her. 

“ I am hardly at liberty so early,” she replied ; “but — yes, 
I will go with you.” 

“ Neither am I at liberty, but I wish to speak with you.” 

“ Indeed ! we will set out at once.” 

But what was I first to say, after so formal an announce- 
ment? We walked on a few steps, when, summoning my 
resolution, I exclaimed : 

“ Mademoiselle Theresa, I was rude to you last evening, 
and I wish to crave pardon for it.” 

“ Your manner then was not natural,” said Theresa, with 
some earnestness. “ Explain to me why it was not ?” 

Again T was at loss. I felt all the conventionalism of my 
education stripped from me on the instant, and by this mere 
child. I had acknowledged my rudeness, and she had asked, 
with earnest simplicity, of the cause. “ Why was I not nat~ 
Ural r 

What a question! I hesitated — commenced an answer — 
stopped, and said : “ I can not reply to your question satisfac- 
torily to myself, certainly not to you. I acknowledge the 
fault ; it is for you to pardon it.” 

I paused again, but Theresa said nothing. 

“After all,” I added, playfully, “ is not rudeness natural 
sometimes ?” 

“Not in one that is true-hearted. How can it be? Not 
in you, I am sure, else you would not speak of it as a fault.” 

“ But are not faults natural to poor humanity ?” 

“ The idea is horrible,” she said ; “ God made man upright. 
When he goes astray into sin, he does violence to his nature ; 
he may be led away to a retumless distance, still it is an un- 
natural aberration.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


247 


“You are too serious, mademoiselle.” 

“ Call me Theresa — I like it better.” 

You are too serious, Theresa. I wish not this discussion 
with you, I have enough of it daily with others. Do not let 
us contend about words. I want a companion and friend. I 
said yesterday I loved to feel solitary and homeless. It is not 
true. I do not love to feel so.” 

“Ah, now you speak naturally,” said Theresa, in her na- 
tive tongue: “I shall not be disappointed — perhaps. Only 
talk with me in French no longer ; it is the language of the 
hollow-hearted. You can speak our honest German.” 

“Not so well as you the French ; but I will attempt it, if 
it will make us better acquainted.” 

“ We shall find that out by-and-by ; but first will you tell 
me why you came here to Leipsic ]” 

“ To finish an education which at times I am sorry was 
ever begun.” 

“ If it is to go on with a bad business, you do right to be 
sorry ; if to perfect a good one, you are wrong.” 

I was amazed at the turn our discourse was taking. 
Had the professor’s young daughter assumed to be my men- 
tor ? No, not so ; she exhibited neither the tone nor the 
manner of a teacher or adviser. Her voice was sweet, 
her manner gentle, yet both so self-possessed that I was 
puzzled. 

I fell that the conventional language of compliment which 
is always used by our sex to the other,, would be entirely out 
of place. It was the work of a moment to compare Theresa 
with every other woman I had seen. She was unlike every 
other. What should I do ? — adapt my manner to hers ? yield 
to her influence] My pride of opinion was discomposed. 
I hesitated to yield. Should I not rather cloak myself in it, 
and go on my way ? Theresa perceived my hesitation. 


SAINT LEGER. 


248 -' 

“ Why this unrest she asked ; “ let us converse no more, 
if you are disquieted/’ 

This was uttered in a tone so soft, yet firm, that it reached 
my heart. I have said the day had passed for my confiding, 
but I should have made one exception. I could :onfide in 
Theresa. Heretofore I had been interested in the sex fi'om 
a desire to understand them. I had sought their confidence 
without giving my own. How completely were the tables 
turned ! I was about to open my soul to her, while she yet 
remained to me a mystery. The resolution was taken, and 
kept. 

Very briefly, yet pertinently, I went over my life. I did 
so abruptly and without preface, for I felt annoyed at what I 
was doing. It seemed foolish — weak — unphilosophical — 
anything but characteristic. But I was committed. Theresa 
had the whole. I laugh sometimes when I think how sud- 
denly I gave up my heart’s secret thoughts and struggles : 
gave them up without exchange; unconditionally; no re- 
serve ; no keeping back at all. Yes, she had the whole. 
Why do the tears start at the recollection of that morning % 
I wipe them away, but they come again. 

XIII. 

Theresa listened to my recital, and when I had finished, 
said, with her usual gentleness, “It is better to speak, when 
what we conceal disturbs us. I would not without reflection 
say what I think of your history ; but is it not action that you 
most require*? You are true in heart, honest in purpose ; 
will not a practical life bring you to what you were *?” 

“And must I go haclc, Theresa *?” 

“ Certainly, if you would be happy. Have you not for- 
saken your early faith ?” 


SAINT LEGER. 


249 


“ Because it no longer sustained me.” 

“ Because you no longer trusted !” 

“ Are you happy V* 

“I am ; but I have longings which may not, I suppose, be 
satisfied here. Let us say no more now. We may say too 
much at first. We become known to each other better when 
we speak what is called forth by a more familiar intercourse.” 

We returned to the house. I was relieved. I felt that I 
was a better being. I took my way to the town with a 
stronger confidence in myself and in what I hoped to be. I 
was desirous to speak with Kaiiffinann, but it lacked a day of 
the time appointed for our interview. I was late for the lec- 
ture, and so strolled about Leipsic. 

XIV. 

A FEW evenings before, I had been introduced to a young 
man whose daily habits and manners were so peculiar, whose 
uttered sentiments were so startling, that he received from 
his fellow-students the sobriquet of Mephistophiles. His real 
name was Wolfgang Hegewisch. There had been a dance 
on the evening referred to, in the suburbs of the town ; not 
by people of the better class, certainly, but at the same time 
not of an objectionable character. A great many students 
were there, many of whom had sweethearts in the company. 
The general order of things was convivial, and the most com- 
plete hilai’ity reigned throughout. Pursuing my habit of see- 
ing what was passing, I had accompanied an acquaintance to 
the place. I went as a mere looker-on, and took no part in 
the amusements of the evening. 

My notice was presently attracted by a person apparently 
about five-and-twenty, standing in one comer of the room. 
He was tall, swarthy, or rather sallow, with a high, command- 


250 


SAINT LEGER. 


ing forehead, a deep-sunken, fixed black eye, a large Roman 
nose, small mouth and thin lips, and was spare in person, 
though well enough formed. He stood with folded arms, 
watching the merry-makers. There was something revolting 
in the expression of his countenance. He appeared to take 
a fiendish satisfaction in the weaknesses or the foibles of hu- 
manity ; and these he evidently thought were exhibited in the 
scene before him. As I had declined both the dance and the 
waltz, my companion declared in a jesting way that he would 
present me to Mephistophiles — meaning Hegewisch. I as- 
sented, and we were introduced. I bowed civilly, and re- 
ceived an emphatic nod in return. I forbore to start a con- 
versation, and my new friend showed no signs of doing so. 
After standing near him a few minutes, I turned away, not a 
word having been said on either side. I saw nothing further 
of this man during the evening, but became curious to 
know more of him. No one could give any satisfactory in- 
formation in reply to my questions, though I inquired the 
next morning of almost every one I knew. 

“ He is our Mephistophiles,” said one. “ He is the devil 
himself,” said another. “Beware of him,” cried a third. At 
that moment the gaunt form of Hegewisch glided by, and as 
his glittering eye passed over the group who stood canvassing 
his character, the young men instinctively shrank from it. 

“ Good health and a better occupation to you, gentlemen,” 
he exclaimed, in a tone of mocking irony. 

“ Did I not tell you so?” said young Ludwig Melcherson. 

“ Nonsense,” chimed in a new-comer. “ Can you not let a 
man rest in peace ? What has become of our honest German 
liberalism ? Because Hegewisch neither carouses with you 
nor plays with you ; because he will neither fence nor smoke ; 
because he refuses wine, and beer, and spirits, and runs not 
after the women ; because, in short, he never does anything 


SAINT LEGER. 


251 


that you can complain of, he must be a devil ! Very good 
reasoning, among such precious saints as you !” 

“But how does he look? — what does he say? Answer 
me, Karl,” cried Melcherson. - 

“ How would you look, Herr Ludwig, if everybody pointed 
toward you and called you fiend ? Come, come, fellow-stu- 
dents, let us have no more of this. Am I not right ? ‘ Give 

the devil his due.’ Let us drink to a better appreciation of 
Wolfgang Hegewisch.” 

The company gave enthusiastic assent, and dispersed better 
satisfied with themselves and with the object of their vitupera- 
tion. What I had heard, however, only increased my curi- ^ 
osity to know the man ; but since, I had not met him. 


XV. 

I HAVE thus gone back a little, to explain what occurred the 
morning of my interview with Theresa, after I came into the 
town. I said, 1 took a stroll about Leipsic ; I extended my 
walk to a remote part of the city. As I crossed a narrow 
street, I heard behind me, “ A truant so soon, Herr Saint 
Leger !” I turned and beheld Hegewisch in the doorway of 
a small house on the cross street, a little way from the main 
avenue. He wore a long dressing-gown, buckled around his 
waist, which gave to his figure even a more gaunt appearance 
than was natural. 1 went toward him. 

“ My friend of the ball-room, I believe ?” 

“ The same,” I replied. 

“ I have long wished to see an Englishman, and they tell 
me you are one.’' 

“ ‘ A cat may look on a king.’ You have liberty to survey 
me for any reasonable period.” 

T see you are disposed to be accommodating ; that has its 


SAINT LEGER. 


i>5i> 

corresponding effect upon me. Pray walk into my apart- 
ments ; that is, if you are willing to be questioned.” 

“ I certainly am ; for I calculate upon obtaining more than 
I give.” 

“Ah, I have heard that there were some sensible men 
among the English ; I begin to think it true.” 

“ And I have heard there is nothing like common sense in 
all Germany, and I begin to think that true.” 

“ A hit ! that was just what I was coming to. I feai’ed you 
had not found it out. But pray tell me, since you know so 
much, what in the devil’s name sent you here ?” 

. “ I can’t answer to such an adjuration.” 

“ Pshaw ! ’tis only a habit I have, when pleased. Don’t be 
afraid ; the devil won’t harm good children. So, why do you 
come to Germany?” 

“To make the acquaintance of such rare fellows as your- 
self.” 

“ Good ; come in, then.” And I went into tho apartments 
of Wolfgang Hegewisch, 

“ Here I eat, there I sleep,” said the student, pointing first 
to one room and then to the other. The sleeping-room, ad- 
joining the one we first entered, was narrow, and contained a 
small iron bedstead, a straw bed, some quilts, but no pillows ; 
not a chair, nor table, nor mirror; nothing but the little bed- 
stead, and the straw bed, and the patched quilts. The other 
apartment was better apparelled; there were chairs, and a 
table, and an old secretary, on one side ; a large shelf of books 
on the other ; a laboratory filled with chemical apparatus oc- 
cupied the third, and along the fourth, where the windows did 
not prevent, were hung up odds and ends of almost everything . 
stuffed birds, a death’s head and marrow-bones, crossed as in 
the old pictures ; a dried snake or so, a young crocodile, and 
a brace of lizards ; an old gun, two or thrpe antique helmets 


SAINT LEGER. 


25 : 


and head-pieces ; in short, it seemed as if the ingenuity of the 
occupant had been racked to assemble the most incongruous 
mass of revolting objects. 

“ Here I eat, there I sleep,” repeated Wolfgang Hegewisch. 

“ If I had the selection, I should invert the proposition, and 
say, There I eat, here I sleep ; but every one to his taste,” 

“ I am glad to find you liberal. I will prove to you by-and- 
by that I am right in the disposition of these rooms. In the 
meantime, it is the dinner-hour for honest men. You will 
stay*?” 

I nodded assent. 

“Katrine, Katrine,” shouted the student — a stout serving- 
girl entered — “ Dinner.” 

No cloth was spread, but a coarse dinner of the most ordi- 
nary description was served, without wine of any kind, or 
even beer. There was but one course, and it was passed 
through rapidly, and in silence. 

“ You don’t smoke ?” said Hegewisch. 

“ No.” 

“ Nor drink 1” 

“ When there is nothing to drink, no.” 

“ And you have no vices 1” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ Bah ! you are joking.” 

“ At least I have none to of,” said I. 

“ Nay, answer,” said the student, in a louder tone, “ have 
you no vice] — do not your senses, on some single point, in 
some slight, unmentionable matter, enslave your spirit ? An- 
swer me there.” 

I began to think I was conversing with a madman ; but put 
on a look of composure, and said, calmly, “ I answer — no.” 

“ Then why — this time I say in Heaven’s name — young 
man, are you here ] Is it to lose all that you have that may 


254 


SAINT LEGER. 


be called virtue — which, by the way, is mere sound, only 
sound — and acquire all that may be called depravity ? That’s 
not sound ; that is the real, genuine base-metal.” 

If you will talk less like a madman I shall be happy to 
converse with you.” 

“ Don’t go; don’t go ; excuse me ; I will be quite sane ; I 
am not at all dangerous. Give me your baud ; ’tis pleasant 
once in a while to come across such an innocent fellow as 
yourself. I wonder what will become of you. I hope — yet 
’tis folly to hope — but I do hope to see you dead and de- 
cently interred before you are of my age — five-and-twenty.” 

“ Why ?” 

“ That is cool. Because I like you. I liked you the day 
you first came among us. I liked you at the hob and nob 
down yonder. I like you here ; I don’t want to see you when 
the fire in your soul has been extinguished.” 

Hegewisch uttered these last words in a tone so gentle, that 
I started, almost believing some one else had spoken. I 
looked at him with astonishment ; his eyes had lost what now 
seemed their unnatural mocking expression, and exhibited 
signs of the deepest melancholy. 

“I do not understand you. Let us have some explana- 
tion.” 

“ To a certain age,” he continued, resuming his accustomed 
manner, “ we chase the hope-phantom with an ardor which 
one would think inspired by some divinity. God ! who could 
imagine that the hero-youth should turn out but a drivelling 
snob. Look at him, all his hopes, his expectations, his aspira- 
tions, his swelling ambition, pride, energy, resolution ! all — 
all turned to — what? Perhaps to bestiality ; to gross selfish- 
ness ; or possibly, escaping these, to teaching the A B C to 
some little copy of himself, who will come forward, feel a 
sentiment and a, hope, and in his turn beget children and 


SAINT LEGER. 


255 


bring them up to perpetuate the race. We are taught, we 
learn — for what*? to teach others: and they others; and so 
on, ad infinitum ; faugh ! ’tis a sorry affair. But what can 
we do ; ’tis useless to complain. Have we not passions % do 
they not lead or drive us — if you will have it so — to the 
devin Well, can we resist] Yes, you say. Do we resist] 
No. Why not ] because we love sin ] Nonsense ! Because 
we love pleasure, enjoyment, instant gratification. 

“ So I enjoy what comes to me : do you for that call me a 
wretch ] Granted. Do you claim to be virtuous ] Granted. 
But what makes me the wretch and you the saint ] Circum- 
stances, physical conformation, position, opportunity, etc., etc., 
etc. Therefore, if I had been you, I should have been you. 
If I were you I should be you ; nothing else can be made of 
it. Then we come straight to the question \ ^ Who maketh 
you to differ V 

“Perhaps this is a ground you do not wish to occupy. 
Now it is just the ground, were I a saint, that I would plant 
myself upon. I would place my back to the wall and fortify 
myself with : ‘ Whom He did predestinate them he also call- 
ed.’ ‘ Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect ] 
It is God that justifieth.’ ‘ Shall the thing formed say to Him 
that formed it, why hast thou made me thus ] Hath not the 
potter power *:ver the clay, of the same lump to make one 
vessel unto honor and another unto dishonor V What can a 
poor devil like me reply to that ] How can I screen myself] 
What can I say, except : ‘ My fathers have eaten sour grapes, 
and the children’s teeth are set on edge.’ ” 

Hegewisch paused. His manner was bitter and defying ; 
he seemed determined to argue himself into a belief of what 
he knew was false. 

I took up the subject. “ You complain then,” said I, “ that 
we can not be what we desire to be. Is that it ]” 


256 


SAINT LEGER. 


“No. I complain that we can not desire to be what we 
ought to desire to be ; and that circumstances beyond our 
control have effected this.” 

“ And therefore you are not to suffer.” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ The same argument would clear the highwayman an 
assassin.” 

“ I know it.” 

“ Then you would object to punishment.” 

“ As punishment, I do, but not as a preventive. A scamp 
picks my pocket. I would have him shut up that he may 
pick no more pockets.” 

“ But do you not admit any connection between sin and 
suffering 'i 

“ I do not admit the existence of what you term sin. Guilt 
there may be, and misery there is ; but sin is as impossible as 
holiness ; uncontrollable circumstances produce both. Every 
action is produced by a motive ; that motive is powerful 
enough to produce it, or it would not produce it ; therefore 
there is no sin.” 

“You admit that sin exists, but insist that none commit sin 1 
What an absurdity.” 

“ I admit that sin (z. e., the principle of evil) exists, but 
that it can be imputed to none. Neither can holiness, accord- 
ing to your scripture. Do what we may, we are but unprofit- 
able servants.” 

“ Well, then, I meet you on your own ground : your argu- 
ment proves too much. If I may not blame the wretch who 
murders his neighbor, although murder be a sin, you can not 
impute any blame for his punishment here, or for retribution 
hereafter. If he can not sin, the avenger can not sin. So you 
are back to the same point, after a fruitless round of sophism. 
You would better exclaim with the Mussulman, ‘What is, is ; 


SAINT LEGER. 


257 


what must be, must be.’ You say the sinner ought not to be 
punished, but he is punished nevertheless ; and as sin can be 
imputed to none, we can blame none for his punishment. 
Such is the constitution of things ; and it is a necessary con- 
stitution ; and if necessary, it is right.’ 

“ Well enough reasoned. But nevertheless I will quarrel 
with it. You doom the offender. But tell me who — what 
placed this principle of evil in the world ?” 

“ I do not know. I only know it is here, and that we 
must make the best of it.” 

“ Must not some Power, infinitely controlling, have done 
this?” 

“ I do not know : I admit, that I can not understand it. It 
transcends our reason. Why then question about it ? Tell 
me,” continued I, “ why does fire cause agony to the exposed 
flesh ; why does water strangle the bold swimmer ? why does 
the swift air carry pestilence, or the huiTicane in its course 
devastation ? why does a blow injure our frame, or hunger 
weaken, or thirst torture it ? why do we need clothes to pro- 
tect from heat and cold ? why are we weak when young and 
decrepit when old ? Answei* me these, and I will tell why 
misery is entailed upon sin, and why sin exists. I take you 
on your ground, and on your ground I expose your sophism.” 

“ Stop there !” said Hegewisch ; “ we have gone far enough. 
What fools are we, to babble in this way.” 

“Not so, if we get at the truth at last.” 

“Truth!” interrupted my companion: “truth! So you 
have fallen into our German cant, and are a ‘ seeker after 
truth V Why do n’t you practise truth ? why do n’t you live 
truth ? Why the devil do you go about eternally seeking, 
with your mouth full of our mystical jargon, which it would 
puzzle a fiend to understand?” 

“ You are right, Herr Hegewisch. Let us commence 
forthwith.” 17 


258 


SAINT LEGER. 


“ Bah ! I am not in that catagory. I am only an adviser ; 
the practice is for you. I am irreclaimable. Good-by now, 
but come again and see me.” 

So ended my first interview with Wolfgang Hegewisch. 

XVI. 

“ Why had I come to Germany It was strange enough 
that Theresa and Wolfgang Hegewisch should each ask me 
the question ; and deprecate, although in different terms, my 
present course. 

What was that to Theresa or to Hegewisch ? Why should 
either presume to dictate to me ? A moment’s consideration 
put at rest this movement of weak pride. I became calm. 
I determined to subject myself to the most rigorous discipline ; 
what friend or enemy, sycophant or scoffer, said, should be 
weighed carefully, and the result passed to my benefit. Such, 
and many more resolves of similar import, were made, while 
with renewed courage I girded myself for the trial. But, 
words — words — how they troubled me ! how I tried to dis- 
encumber myself of the schoolman’s terms, and to translate 
them into language that could be apprehended. At first I 
could not imagine in what I was baffled ; and when I came 
to discover that it was by sounds merely, I took courage. 

XVII. 

Whatever I did, wherever I went, the meager anatomy 
of Hegewisch haunted me. In the lecture-room, among the 
students, in my walks, awake, asleep, or in revery — there 
were those glittering black eyes, and that scornful face, and 
that gaunt figure. Sometimes the countenance would present 
itself in the softened melancholy, in which for a moment I be- 


SAINT LEGBR. 


259 


held it when in his apartment ; and then, it appeared in such 
mournful depression that I could hardly restrain my own 
emotion. In one situation only was I free from the illusion. 
In the society of Theresa nothing could abstract me from the 
influence of her presence. No apparition haunted me then. 
I breathed the pure atmosphere which surrounded her, and 
felt that a new life was beginning within me. If ever lived 
upon this earth a sinless being, save only the One in whom 
we trust, it seems to me that Theresa was sinless. So it was 
that in her company I found peace of mind ever after the day 
in which I gave her my confidence. But away from her, and 
Hegewisch appeared. Why was I so beset ? 

XVIII. 

I EXPECTED at the appointed time to see Kauffmann. Strange 
to say, he had absented himself from Leipsic, and had not been 
seen since the day we had our last conversation. Hegewisch, 
I often encountered. This was a relief, for the real spectre 
drove away the imaginary one. He always greeted me when- 
ever we met; sometimes cordially, sometimes abruptly. Once 
in a while I would find him discoursing to a group of students; 
seemingly attentive listeners, who, though fascinated by his 
presence, were evidently startled and almost terror-stricken 
by what he said. On such occasions I invariably joined the 
company, and Hegewisch would as invariably bring his 
harangue to sudden conclusion, and leave us. In this way 
some two weeks ran on, when, all at once, Hegewisch disap- 
peared. I felt my interest still more excited by the circum- 
stance ; and after a lapse of a few days, being unable longer 
to restrain myself — for his shadow haunted me more than 
ever — I determined to go to his apartments and inquire there. 
I was warranted in so doing, by his request that I would again 


260 


SAINT LEGER. 


see him. I proceeded to his rooms. I found him within. 
He was seated in a chair at his old secretary, reading a manu- 
script. He started suddenly upon my entrance, thrust the 
writing hastily into a drawer, and without rising, exclaimed : 
“You are welcome. I am glad you have come.” 

I looked at him attentively, and was struck with the change. 
His eyes were more sunken, his face more sallow, his cheek 
more emaciated. 

“You have been ill; you are ill,” I said, almost abruptly. 

“ I have been — I am,” was the reply. 

“ Why did you not send for me ?” I inquired, for something 
told me that my sympathy would scarcely be repulsed. 

“ You have come in good time,” replied Hegewisch. “ Soon- 
er I could not have seen you. I am better.” 

“ Indeed. Have you been so ill ?” 

“Yes; and how this cowardly frame of ours shrinks and 
trembles and grows puny, under the attack of the Destroyer. 
Death I would meet and not tremble, but it is his advance- 
guard, with its Parthian warfare, cutting one off by piece- 
meal, that disturbs me.” 

“ And is that all that disturbs you, Wolfgang Hegewisch ?” 
I demanded, in a tone which gave evidence that I felt deeply 
for him. 

“ I am no longer disturbed by anything. Mind, and body, 
a wreck — a ruin.” 

“ Say not so,” I cried ; “ say not so ! Only rouse your- 
self; invoke the slumbering faculties of your being, make 
Memory do her part, Hope her part. Faith her part. Pa- 
tience her part, and you are saved.” 

“ Memory!” muttered the student; “Great Father, does he 
speak of memory — does he commend me to the poison ” 

“ Not without the antidote.” 

“ Saint Leger,” said Hegewisch, recovering himself at the 


SAINT LEffER. 


261 


sound of my voice, and rising with dignity from his seat to 
approach me ; “ Saint Leger, do not attempt to comfort me. 
My spirit is tossed upon a stormy sea, where tempests rage 
continually, and there is no hope of a calmer season, but rather 
apprehension of a deeper and more terrible gloom ! Do not 
think to comfort me.” 

“ I will ; I came for that purpose ; you shall be comfort- 
ed !” I exclaimed, repressing with difficulty the emotions 
which filled my bosom. 

The eyes of Hegewisch grew moist, but he struggled to 
prevent any evidence of feeling. It would not do. In spite 
of every effort a large tear formed in each of those strange 
eyes, and overflowed the lids and rolled down. 

** Weak, weak, weak!” whispered he, wiping away the 
drops. “ Let the hour hasten ; let death come before I am 
quite imbecile.” 

“ Will you not be calm and hear me ? Will you not say 
what distresses you ? Speak to your friend V* 

“ It is written here,” said Hegewisch, laying his hand upon 
his heart. “ It is written here, with a pen of iron.” 

“What is written? Why speak in riddles? Why not 
heed my request ?” 

“Listen to me, then,” said the student. “Perhaps it will 
relieve me to probe the wound. You are the first human 

being that my heart has waimed toward, since — since it 

became stone. Will you hearken ? Do you care to hear 
the story of one who has cursed the day in which he was 
born ?” 

I expressed an eager assent, and without further hesita- 
tion the student, after drawing his chair nearer to mine, com- 
menced. 


2G2 


SAINT LEGER 


XIX. 

THE STORY OF WOLFGANG HEGEWISCH. 

I WAS born on the Rhine ; it is of no consequence to men- 
tion the place ; the events I narrate are of too recent occur- 
rence to give them their locality. I am the elder of two 

brothers. My father was the Baron . I no longer use 

the name or title, but have taken instead my second name, 
Hegewisch, which was that of my maternal ancestor. 

My childhood and youth were very joyous. My disposition 
was trustful and sanguine ; my nature open and confiding, 
and my temper not unamiable. 

No two were ever more unlike than my brother and my- 
self. He was cunning and stealthy ; shrewd and vindictive ; 
full of malice and of treachery. In our childhood even, he 
envied me the privileges of the first-bom, and as we grew 
older his envy merged into a subtle and revengeful hate, 
which became more and more dangerous, as it was manifested 
the less openly. All this, however, but little affected my hap- 
piness. My heart overflowed with benevolence toward all ; 
and I regarded the conduct of my brother only as childish ill- 
humor or youthful caprice. I did not know his real charac- 
ter, or the depth of depi:avity it had already reached. 

I was the favorite of both my father and my mother. My 
brother gave them continual uneasiness, by the early mani- 
festation of many unhappy traits of character. 

My days ran pleasantly. I had a fondness for manly exer- 
cises and for books. My education was attended to with care, 
and it was so admirably planned that I can not look back upon 
a single day of study with unpleasant reminiscences. 


SAINT LEGER. 


263 


How could I fail of being happy ? My brother as we 
grew up took more pains to conceal his feelings. He prac- 
tised a ready dissimulation and affected a strong regard for 
me. Thus were confirmed my most favorable impressions of 
his conduct, and we advanced pleasantly enough together. 
Only I could not love him. I had never thoughtfully reflected 
upon his nature. I had never seriously condemned him, yet 
I shrunk from his society. My greatest error was a neglect 
of my reflective powers. There was much to excuse this ; 
and I have been fearfully rewarded for this sin of omission ; 
but the future was all so bright, the present all so happy, that 
it will not appear strange that I took everything upon trust 
and allowed nothing to detract from the felicity in which I 
moved, and which I saw before me. Yet I was not negligent 
of study. On the contrary, I delighted in learning. I even 
applied myself severely, and in doing so was happy. 

But I did not reflect practically, nor apply the lessons 
which I daily gleaned fi'om books to my own case. Indeed, 
I thought not of myself. To be sure, I loved to be happy ; 
but it was an impulsive natural desire which involved no sel- 
fishness. For I sought always to make those near me happy, 
and herein found my greatest pleasure. Can you imagine a 
more desirable state of being ? Had it not some resemblance 
to that of Eden 1 

Caspar — this biother of mine — I must make my story 
brief — he, the while, was not idle. He read and pondered; 
he was up early and late, not with the zeal c f one who loved 
his labor, but with the assiduousness of a slave under his 
task-master. The more he learned, the kinder was his bear- 
ing toward every one, until even the baron and my mother 
began to hope that he was redeeming his good name. Still, 
while his manner was becoming so amiable, his eye was more 
full of craft and his movements more stealthy. 


264 


SAINT LEGER. 


With the servants and retainers, Caspar could gain no pop- 
ularity. In spite of constant and persevering endeavors to 
win their favor, he was regarded with unvarying dislike. F or 
this, Caspar hated me, but he smothered his feelings, and af- 
fected to look up to me with the consideration which belongs 
to the elder brother. 

There was one person only with whom he appeared to have 
confidential intercourse. This was a priest named Hegel, 
belonging to a monastery a few miles distant. He was not 
of the severe and self-denying class who are crafty and re- 
morseless from principle, and fortify themselves in deeds of 
darkness by apt quotations of scripture ; yet reject with scorn 
the claims of sensualism, and crush with iron step the prompt- 
ings of the appetite. This Father Hegel knew nothing of 
privation or self-denial. He was in appearance just the priest 
that has been described so often, fat and rubicund. But 
here the common analogy ended. He seemed good-natured, 
but at heart was arbitrary and cruel : too indolent to be am- 
bitious, he contented himself with being a tyrant wherever 
he could tyrannize. He had a great deal of low cunning, low 
malice, low vindictiveness. He ministered to his passions 
whenever he could do so with safety, and when he could not, 
he turned their forces in some other direction. 

With this monk Caspar was very intimate. He brought 
him often to his room in the castle, and many and long were 
their secret conferences. Their intimacy commenced when 
Caspar was about sixteen, and I, therefore, nearly eighteen. 
The baron regarded it with strong distaste, for he had been 
educated a protestant, and his good sense would have con 
demned it under any circumstances. But somehow, the more 
intimate Caspar and Father Hegel became, the more amiable 
was Caspar. The monk took every occasion to ingratiate 
himself with the baron and my mother, and sought especially 


SAINT LEGER. 


265 


to propitiate me. His words were full of charity. He spoke 
of Caspar as one whose morbid feelings had made him moody 
and discontented. He admitted that he had taken pains to 
gain my brother’s confidence, in order, if possible, to influ- 
ence him by the strong force of Christian precept and ex- 
ample, and he was happy to find that his labor was not alto- 
gether in vain. Caspar had improved; his feelings were 
becoming natural ; he regarded his former unhappy state of 
mind with abhorrence ; he believed he was no longer under 
the influence of the “ Prince of the Power of the Air.” Not 
that he had sought to proselyte him ; no — he only wished to 
withdraw him for a season from himself, and the rest he 
would leave to the Good Shepherd of Souls.” 

Such was the tenor of Father Hegel’s discourse to my 
mother, to the baron, and to me. Who could help being in- 
fluenced by it when the evidence of amendment was seen 
from day to day ? Caspar grew more kind and amiable ; the 
monk more saint-like and devoted. 

I say not that my father was satisfied. Quite the contrary. 
For he was a man of ready intellect, who had seen much of 
the world, and knew what faith to put in the professions of 
such men as Father Hegel; but balancing the apparent im- 
provement in Caspar against the danger to arise fi'om the 
means used, he doubtless thought it best not to interfere. 
My mother felt greater hope ; and for myself, I was pleased 
at the change, although I could not overcome the instinclive 
repugnance which I felt when my brother, in apparent kind- 
ness, put his arm in mine, or laid his hand, with seeming af- 
fection, on my shoulder. By all the other inmates ot' the 
castle the monk was held in detestation. Notwithstanding all 
his efforts to gain favor, he was absolutely hated. There is a 
singular straightforwardness in the capacities of many of the 
humbler classes, which, like the peculiar appreciation of chil- 


266 


SAINT LEGER. 


dren, recognises at once the pretender and the hypocrite. It 
was so here ; and Caspar and the monk found themselves 
foiled where they had doubtless expected the least opposition. 

Hegewisch paused. He remained silent several minutes. 
At last he said : “ Why do I hesitate 'I Why linger on the 
threshold ] Why dread to approach the subject ? Do my 
thoughts ever wander from it ] My right hand has forgot 
her cunning, but I shall forget this — never ” 


XX. 

The student resumed. “ I have been reading,” he said, in 
a quiet tone, seemingly unconscious that he was wandering 
from his subject, “ I have been reading a few passages of 
Claudian, and these lines strike me with more force this morn- 
ing than ever before. They state pertinently the matter which 
disturbs me and makes me a denier.” . Hegewisch read in a 
low but collected voice : 

“ S^PE mihi dubiam traxit sententia mentem, 

Curarent Super! terras, an nullus inesset 
Rector, et incerto fluerent mortalia casu. 

Nam cum dispositi qusesissim foedera mundi, 

Praescriptosque mari fines, annisque meatus, 

Et lucis noctisque vires : tunc omnia rebar 
Consilio firmati Dei — 

Sed cum res hominum tanta caligine volvi 
Aspicerem, lastosque diu florere nocentes, 

Vexarique pios, rarsus labefacta cadebat 
Religio.” 

He closed the book and looked at me inquiringly. 

The Bible,” I said, “ is full of this subject. It does not 
slide over nor evade it. We read in direct terms of the ap- 
parent injustice of God’s management of the affairs of men. 

“ ‘ The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor.’ 

“ * For the wicked boasteth of his heart’s desire.’ 


V 


SAINT LEGER. 


267 


‘ There is a just man that perishelh in his righteousness, 
and there is a wicked man that prolongeth his life in his wick- 
edness/ 

“ ‘ Wherefore do the wicked live, become old, yea are mighty 
in power V 

“ Yet how distinctly are we assured of the great and final 
result. How surely and how confidently does the Bible speak 
in vindication of the ways of God to man. 

“ ‘ Though a sinner do evil a hundred times, and his days 
be prolonged, yet surely I know it shall be well with them 
that fear God, which fear before him.’ 

‘ But it shall not be well with the wicked.’ 

“ ‘ Thou renderest to every man according to his work.’ ” 

“ I have no patience with the subject,” interrupted Hege- 
wisch, bitterly. “Nor can I ” 

The student stopped suddenly, and with a strong efibrt at 
self-control, he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, while a per- 
ceptible shudder passed across his frame : “ I have blasphem- 
ed enough.” 

“ You have forgotten the nan'ative,” said I, gently, without 
noticing his emotion. “ Pray finish it now, before I leave 
you.” 

“ The narrative,” repeated Hegewisch, clasping his hands 
across his forehead, “ The narrative ! Ah, yes, I recollect ; 
but where was I ? Oh ! I remember that too. Pardon me 
if I have detained you ; but those lines from Claudian. Yes, 
they were running in my head.” 

Thereupon he continued: 

A few leagues from , and still farther up the Rhine, 

stood the castle of the ancient lords of Richstein. A house at 
that time famous as well for its long ancestry as for the wealth 
and influence which were centred in its then present posses- 
sor. This personage haxl married late in life, and was blessed 


268 


SAINT LEGER. 


with a single child, a daughter, to soothe the asperities of de- 
clining age. The lord of Richstein and my father were friends. 
And it was understood between them that the elder son of the 
baron should wed the young Meta of Richstein. Both were 
then in infancy. The little Meta being nearly three years my 
junior. 

Time rolled along : the children saw much of each other, 
but when together were quite too young to form any serious 
intimacy. Before Meta reached her tenth year, the lord of 
Richstein was summoned to his last rest. And in the year 
following, the same tomb closed upon his wife. Thus was 
Meta leftj at a tender age, an orphan, an heiress, and the sole 
representative of an ancient and noble house. 

The death of the lord and the lady of Richstein struck me 
with terror ; but the impression soon wore away, and when I 
learned that Meta was to be removed to another part of the 
country, and to receive her education under the direction of 
her aunt, the much respected and beloved patroness of the 
holy abbey of Rennewart, I rejoiced that she would have an 
adequate protector, without thinking how prejudicial the re- 
moval might be to my own prospects. 

In short, I indulged in no dreams of the future ; I cared for 
none. The idea of marriage had never seriously entered my 
head. I had no worldly cunning, nor policy, nor shrewdness. 
I was satisfied with home and my means of enjoyment, and 
of course was happy. 

I do not remember whether I bade Meta adieu ; probably 
I did not. She was kept in deep mourning, and was shut in 
the castle after her mother’s death until she went to her aunt. 
And before a twelvemonth passed, new scenes and associa- 
tions had doubtless led us quite to forget each other. 

Only my father did not lose sight of the proposed alliance. 
He kept up a formal correspondence with the lady patroness, 


SAINT LEGER. 


269 


which was productive of a letter every six months, in which 
the baron inquired, in courtly phrase, after the condition of 
the holy abbey, the welfare of the lady patroness, and the 
health of the young lady of Richstein. Every six months 
answer was returned in like parlance, that the condition of 
the holy abbey of Rennewart (Laus Deo) was satisfactory, the 
welfare of the lady patroness was perfect, and the health of 
the young lady of Richstein was good. Nothing occurred for 
years to disturb the uniform current of events. Meta and 
myself had not met since the young girl left Richstein. Still 
our betrothment was held as settled by both the lady patroness 
and my father. I was about twenty. To this period I have 
given a brief outline of my history, and of that of my brother, 
and I have gone back only to make my story intelligible. 

I was about twenty. One morning, as I was engagec^ in 
my own room, collating favorite passages from JEschylus, 
some one knocked at the door. I uttered some word of ad- 
mission, and Caspar entered. He came close to me, and I 
observed, for the first time, that his countenance was pale, 
and that he had the appearance of extreme dejection. I asked 
him to sit down, but he shook his head despairingly. I in- 
quired what troubled him, and this too he declined. I could 
do no more, so I remained silent till he should speak. 

“ My brother,” said he at last, in a low, pathetic tone, “ my 
dear brother, I am the most miserable of creatures !” 

Astounded at such an announcement from one usually so 
calm and self-possessed, I was for the moment unable to re- 

ply. 

“I am, believe me — 1 am, Wolfgang,” continued Caspar; 
“and you are the only one to whom I can go; you — who 
will prove my enemy and my ruin !” 

“ For the love of Heaven,” I exclaimed, “ what mean you, 
Caspar, and why do you speak with such horrid significance?” 


270 


SAINT LE3ER. 


“’Tis true — too true! Say — tell me, Wolfgang, may I 
reveal the secret of my soul to you 

I looked him anxiously in the face, but said nothing. 

“ 1 must, I will tell it to you, although it make certain my 
destruction. Know that I love Meta of Richstein — your 
Meta — and that my love is retumed — that she loves me! I 
have uttered it ; kill me if you will, for life is a burden to 
me ! I will not prove a traitor to my brother ; I can not live 
without her.” 

“Is that all, Caspar? Does your distress centre in this?” 
said I, in a lively tone. “ If so, take the girl and wel- 
come ; I wish you joy of her. Long may you live in the 
old castle of Richstein, and your descendants after you. 
So compose yourself, and for once in your life look cheerful 
and happy.” 

He stood amazed. “ Are you in earnest, brother ?” he 
cried, “ or are you sporting with my feelings ?” 

“In earnest — certainly. Come, I will sign, seal, and de- 
liver. Prepare your documents. How can I be in love with 
a girl I have never seen since she was a child ?” 

“ But the castle,” interposed Caspar, timidly, “ and the large 
tenures, the baronies, and ” 

“All, everything goes with the bride,” interrupted I; “so 
bay no more about it, or I shall begin to think you care more 
for them than for your lady-love.” 

He winced a little under this remark, but took no notice 
of it. 

“ Documents in writing,” continued he, musingly, “ are 
certainly unnecessary, when there is as yet no vested right. 
Nay, in this case the right can scarcely be called inchoate, or 
contingent even; still, Wolfgang, as the world views things 
so strangely, and as none of us can read the future, may I 
trouble you, since you kindly offer it, to say something in 


SAINT LEGER. 


271 


writing to the effect that you reliiiquisl; all claim to the hand 
of Meta r’ 

I hesitated. My suggestion had been made playfully, and 
here was a serious request for a written relinquishment. I 
could not but look upon Caspar as acting with his accustomed 
selfishness, and all my former antipathy toward him revived. 
But as I was anxious to be rid of him, I took a pen, and wrote, 
thus : 

“ My brother Caspar, having become attached to the Lady 
Meta, of Richstein, and she reciprocating the attachment, I 
freely resign all claim to the hand of the Lady Meta which I 
may have in consequence of any betrothment by our respec- 
tive parents.” ' 

This I signed and handed to Caspar. He read it, changed 
color, stammered, and looked at me suspiciously. 

“ Is it not satisfactory V’ said I, sharply. 

“ O ! yes,” he said, “ only I would suggest a trifling altera- 
tion, to save Meta from all embarrassment.” 

“I shall make no alteration. Take the paper, or not, just 
as you choose. As I have said, I resign the whole to you. 
I mean what I say. It is done !” Such was my answer. He 
ventured no more, but thanking me with assumed humility, 
hastened from the room. 

The longer I thought of this occurrence the more mysterious 
it seemed. I did not doubt a moment that Caspar was in- 
fluenced by ambitious and mercenary motives, but I wonder- 
ed how he could have managed to meet with Meta, while she 
was at such a distance, and bring affairs to so serious an issue. 
However, I soon dismissed the matter from my mind. 

After this, Caspar was away from us much of the time. 
Father Hegel came rarely to visit him, and it seemed that 
their intercourse was becoming less intimate. 


272 


SAINT LEGER. 


Months passed. The spring was gone, and summer was 
setting in. I had prepared for several pedestrian excursions 
along the Rhine and into the regions adjacent. These jour- 
neys were made quite at random, pursuing as I did no fixed 
plan of travel, but allowing the caprice of the moment to lead 
me this way or that. In one of these hap-hazard excursions 
I strayed away as far as the old town of Rhineck. Fatigued 
by exercise, I stopped at the first inn that presented itself, 
and securing with difficulty a small chamber, immediately re- 
tired. I know not how long I slept, I was awakened by a 
whispering near me, and opening my eyes, I perceived a 
stream of light across my apartment, which came fiom a 
crevice in the partition against which my bed was placed. 
The sound which had disturbed me was continued from the 
other room. The parties were seated close to the crevice, 
and I was so near that I could hear them distinctly. 

“ Are you sure that it was he V* 

“Yes, quite sure.” 

“ But was he coming here, do you think V* 

“ How do I know ? I only know that I saw him. But if 
he was coming here, he has no idea that Meta is at the chateau. 
Besides, I have told you over and over again that Wolfgang 
cares not for the girl.” 

I could hear Father Hegel in a low, vulgar, discordant 
laugh, while I recognised in his companion my brother Caspar. 
“ The young cub has no love for carnage till he has lapped 
blood ; so the youth knows not the volcano which he carries 
within him till his passions are roused. Let Wolfgang meet 
me girl of Richstein, and then good-by to your claim !” 

“ I do not think so. What Wolfgang has said he will 
abide by.” 

“ When he discovers the cheat you have put upon him 1” 

“ It will then be too late.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


273 


I could hear nothing further, for the parties changed their 
position, and shortly after left the room. 

I slept no more that night. I saw that a plot was laid to 
ensnare an innocent girl, and that I had been made to play a 
part in it. New light dawned upon me. I felt older by 
years than when I laid down. I could now appreciate the 
shrewdness of Caspar, and understand the selfishness of his 
nature. Everything was clear to me. 

There it was — the change from youth to man; the new 
energy, the awakened purpose, the first practical develop- 
ment ; the harnessing in to the train that sweeps round the 
earth, laden with every imaginable object of hope, and every 
imaginable desire of the heart ! 

I rose early. I expected to meet and confront my brother, 
and was prepared to do it. This was not to be, however. 
He and his companion had taken their departure before I left 
my chamber, and no one about the inn coulc tell me whither 
they went. My next thought was to seek for Meta; but 
where was she to be found ? Occupied with the idea, I start- 
ed forth, and walked on mechanically till I came to the town- 
gate. Producing my passport, I went through, and contin- 
ued my stroll until I was entirely away from the suburbs, and 
surrounded only by pleasant green fields, through which were 
frequent lanes leading to the river. I turned down one of these, 
which led me presently to a spacious old mansion, situated a 
little distance from the water, and surrounded by a high wall. 
The entrance was protected by a large gate. As I came up, 
I saw a little boy upon the outside struggling to open it. He 
had apparently strayed out and in some way got through the 
gate, but was unable to get back. Finding his struggles of 
no avail, he began to cry. I ran forward, and opening the 
gate, took him in my arms and carried him inside. At the 
same moment, a girl came bounding down the path, and ran 
18 


274 


SAINT LEGER. 


to the spot where I was standing with the boy. I never yet 
forgot a countenance, where the lineaments had become 
formed, and I recognised instantly in the beautiful and bloom- 
ing creature before me the young Meta of Richstein. 

With remarkable grace and self-possession, yet with be- 
coming modesty, she thanked me for the trouble I had taken 
with her little charge, who, she said, was placed under her 
care for a few minutes, and ran off unperceived, alarming her 
for his safety. I saw that I was not known, and I could not 
resist the temptation of preserving my incognito. Indeed, I 
knew not what to say or how to announce myself. The longer 
I hesitated the more difficult it seemed. 

It was a strange meeting between two betrothed. Destiny 
had thrown us together in the delightful season when the air 
was balmy, and nature smiling. The water spirits upon the 
bosom of Father Rhine seemed sporting, and nymphs and 
fauns and fairies to be revelling in the fields and through the 
bowers and around the wells and fountains of the old cliateau. 

And I thought of my renunciation, and wished I had not 
written and signed it ; and I was glad that I had framed it 
so cautiously, and wondered what would be the end of the 
history ; and revolving all these things, I was standing still, 
gazing upon Meta, but taking no notice of what she said, 
nor of anything else. There I stood, looking, and saying 
nothing. 

How long I remained in this way I do not know. I be- 
lieve Meta spoke, and asked if I was ill, or something of the 
sort, but I am not positive. When I recovered from my 
trance, she was standing, as much enrapted as I had been. 
Memory was summoned to its office, and a dim reminiscence 
was flitting across her mind. But the shadows threw no cer- 
tain trace across the vista of the past ; the glimmering dis- 
closed only the same dim reminiscence. Meta was the first 
to speak. 


SAINT LEGER. 


275 


'' Excuse me : You come, I presume, to call on the baron- 
ess ; but your countenance seems so familiar that I must ask 
if I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before 1” 

“ I have been often in Rhineck, but never at the chateau.” 

“ Nay, it cannot have been in the town; but your counten- 
ance is familiar. You are some friend of our family V' 

“ Then we may have met at Rennewart?” 

“ At Rennewart ; no. But this shows that you know me.” 

“Yes, I do know you, Meta of Richstein,” said I, slowly, 
and sadly. “ I only hope that you may not remember me.” 

“ It is the young Baron of ,” she exclaimed, suddenly, 

with a look first of terror and then of scorn. “What would 
he here I” 

The air, just before so genial, became oppressive; nature 
turned her smiles into frowns. The water spirits ceased 
their sports and plunged down to their caverns in the bottom 
of the river, and the nymphs and fauns and fairies left oft 
revelling and fled noiselessly away into the dark recesses of 
the woods. 

How different my first and second trance ! Her voice 
brought me to my senses. She repeated in the same disdain 
ful tone her question. 

“ What would you here"?” 

“ I would expose a base and premeditated fraud upon my 
self and you. I would prove that we are the victims of ai. 
outrageous plot. I would clear myself from aspersions which 
I believe have been cast upon me, and explain whatever may 
seem to you deserving of censure.” 

“ Of censure !” exclaimed Meta, scornfully. “ So it is but 
a trifling matter for censure when a nobleman of an ancient 
and honorable lineage basely insults an unprotected maiden 
over whose destiny he has control, through a compact of their 
parents, by bartering away his claim to her hand as he would 


276 


SAINT LBGER. 


the service of a bondsman, and at the same time adding in- 
dignity to insult by mentioning as a reason for it his preference 
for another 

“False, false — all false. You have been deceived; and 
I have been traduced.” 

“ Spare your hypocritical excuses,” interrupted Meta, 
drawling a paper from her bosom ; “ read that and begone !” 

She handed me the paper. It was the same that I had 
given to Caspar. I opened it, and to my astonishment read 
as follows : — 

“My brother Caspar; Having become attached to the Lady 
Myra of Eberstein, and she reciprocating the attachment, 1 
freely resign in your favor all claim to the hand of the Lady 
Meta, which I may have in consequence of any betrothment 
by our respective parents.” 

A feeling of transport welled up within me, as I looked on 
this convincing proof of my brother’s treachery. Not the 
sudden discovery of so wretched a crime in him could restrain 
it. I remained calm, however, and after reading the writing 
twice over to mark carefully the alterations, I handed it back. 

“ Well,” said Meta, indignantly, “ what have you to say 1” 

“ That the writing is a forgery.” 

“ Do you deny your signature ?” 

“ No ; but if you will listen to me a few moments, I will 
prove the forgery to you.” 

“ I will listen.” 

My explanation was short, but explicit. I detailed with 
exactness what occurred at the interview between Caspar and 
myself, so that Meta could understand that it was solely on 
her account that I had signed anything. I described Caspar’s 
earnestness and apparent sincerity. I narrated all he had 
said of her attachment to him, and the wretchedness which the 
betrothn^ent ^yith nie was causing lijoth. 


SAINT LEGEE. 


277 


I then came to the paper which I had myself written and 
signed. I bade Meta examine it carefully. I pointed out 
distinctly the several forgeries: first, where, by a new 
punctuation and a capital, I was made to address Caspar in- 
stead of naming him ; second, the alteration of “ Meta” to 
“ Myra third, the change of “ Richstein” to “ Eberstein,” 
and fourth, the addition at the end of a line where a space was 
left, of “ in your favor.” The alterations were made with ex- 
traordinary skill, but were nevertheless apparent to a practised 
eye. 

I next told Meta the conversation I overheard at the inn, 
and the resolution I took of seeking her out and vindicating 
myself, though at the expense of exposing a brother’s guilt. 

She was overwhelmed by my disclosures. We had re- 
mained standing all the time, she listening to me earnestly, 
while her face was at one moment completely crimsoned and 
the next deadly pale. As I pointed to the alterations in the 
paper, we stood still closer together, she holding one side of 
it and I the other. And I perceived her hands tremble and 
her eyes droop and her lips quiver as she discovered the ir- 
resistible proofs of the conspiracy. How my heart warmed 
toward her as she stood agitated by conflicting emotions ; 
how I cursed my previous indifference ; how I wondered that 
I could have so long abstained from seeing and knowing the 
one with whom my destiny had been linked ; how was I 
now touched by her extreme loveliness, her dignity, her 
grace, her modesty, her spirit, her pride, and lofty bearing ; 
how on a sudden did every perfection of womanhood seem to 
shine in her. She folded the paper, handed it to me, and 
said in a low but emphatic tone : “ I am satisfied. You will 
accompany me to the chateau that I may introduce you to the 
baroness.” 

T assented, and we went on together. Meta declining with 


278 


SAINT LEGE 11. 


kindness my offer of assistance. On the way she inlormetl 
me that the baroness was her cousin, whose husband had died 
some years since, and that she had been in the habit of 
spending some portion of each year with her. 

The reaction upon the discovery of injustice done to an 
innocent party is not generally of a pleasing nature, but I am 
sure our walk to the chateau was a happy one. 

I know not how it was, but although we scarcely spoke to 
each other, yet insensibly we slackened our pace, and were 
moving very slowly along the path. Somehow we walked 
very near together, although Meta had declined taking my 
arm — and I began to think that I was her protector, and it 
seemed as if I could feel down in the depths of my heart, that 
her spirit was receiving support from mine ; and then all 
nature was gay again, the undines reappeared, and the nymphs 
and fauns and fairies were sporting as gayly as ever. 

Arrived at the chateau, I was ushered iti, and Meta left me, 
to inform her cousin of my coming. More than an hour 
elapsed before either appeared. After that Meta and the 
baroness entered together. Meta said nothing, but the baroness 
greeted me with great kindness. It was evident that she had 
heard the history of the deceit practised upon me. After a 
while she took occasion to refer to it. She told me that 
Caspar had for several years been a frequent visiter at the 
chateau ; that he had inti’oduced to the lady of Rennewart 
and to herself a monk for whom he claimed a superior sanctity 
and holiness : this of course was Father Hegel ; that I was 
represented as having apostatized from the true faith (I never 
had been a Romanist), and was reckless and unprincipled in 
an extreme degree. As a proof of the last portion, it was 
stated that I had never thought even of inquiring for Meta or of 
seeing her, and that I would not hesitate to sell my claim to 
her hand. 


SAINT LEGER. 


279 


These insinuations were made gradually and quietly ; not 
to Meta, for no opportunity was given for it; but to the 
baroness and the lady of Rennewart. After a season, they 
had been convinced, and had promised Caspar that if he ob- 
tained proof of my indifference, they would, with the consent 
of Meta, and of my father, consider him the betrothed. He 
was finally allowed several interviews with Meta, in which I 
was traduced in the vilest manner ; and to crown the whole, 
he had called that very morning and left my written renun- 
ciation. He had not as yet produced any consent from my 
father, but had promised to do so shortly. The baroness 
went on to say, that she hoped I would add nothing to what I 
had already communicated, that she felt satisfied of my honor 
and integrity, and that Caspar had always excited in her mind 
distrust and apprehension. She concluded by informing me 
that he was expected to return and dine at the chateau, and 
requested me to take such steps as to receiving him as I should 
think proper. 

The baroness had scarcely concluded, when approaching 
footsteps were heard in the great hall, and Casper was ushered' 
into the room. He stopped quickly on seeing me, looked at 
Meta and at the baroness, and turned pale. He did not speak, 
nor show any other mark of excitement, but maintained his 
position, as if determined to be addressed before accosting any 
one. It was too much for me. I rose and came close to 
him : 

“ Caspar,” I said, “ you are henceforth no brother of mine. 
Never again speak to or approach me. For the first and last 
time I heap opprobrium upon you. I am compelled to do it 
in my own defence. I call you forger, liar, knave. Your 
plans are frustrated, your plot discovered, and you disgraced.” 

Before I had done speaking, his countenance had resumed 
its natural cool, sardonic expression. When I concluded, he 


280 


SAINT LEGEH. 


glanced calmly around the room, gazed for a moment at the 
baroness and at Meta, whose looks told plainly what were 
their feelings, and then cast his eyes upon me, with an ex- 
pression of mingled curiosity and scorn. Suddenly he nodded 
his head, as if satisfied with the scrutiny, muttered slowly to 
himself “ The monk was right turned on his heel, and left 
the apartment. 

The departure of Caspar was a great relief to all. So 
speedy a termination of the interview, especially when we 
believed it to be decisive, removed a load of anxiety which, in 
spite of everything, weighed upon us. Meta continued silent, 
but I knew she felt happy and tranquil, because I myself felt 
so. The baroness, however, had enough to converse about. 
She taxed my patience by narrating with particularity Caspar’s 
course from the commencement of her acquaintance with him. 
“ She could now see why he had said such and such a thing, 
and done so and so ; she was sure Meta never cared for him ; 
that Meta would say so herself,” and so on ; until at last I 
ventured to suggest that the subject might be unpleasant to 
the Lady Meta, (her words were daggers to me ;) whereupon 
the baroness remembered she had forgotten something or 
other in her haste to receive me, and begged me to excuse 
her presence. I was left alone with Meta. 

How it gladdened my soul that I had never seriously thought 
of her as my betrothed ; for my heart was left free and un- 
trammelled by any previous association, and I could feel like 
approaching her as if we had never been the subject of com- 
pact or conference. All the unhappy influences of a betroth- 
ment were thus obviated, while the circumstances connected 
with Caspar’s villany insensibly drew us to each other. After 
the baroness left the room, we took a stroll together upon the 
bank of the river. We spoke not one word of the incidents 
of the morning ; we conversed about ordinary and casual 


SAINT LEGER. 


281 

things. Very little served to entertain us, for we were satis- 
fied with each other. 

Day after day passed, and found me still at the chateau. 
Day after day I lingered in the enjoyment of Meta’s society, 
and dreaded lest any change should break the spell which 
held me. 

Those are halcyon days, — continued Hegewisch, after a 
pause, — the days of the first wish of love; the days when the 
object is found, and the wish becomes a sensation ; the days 
when as yet no words are spoken, but when in their place is 
that indescribable something in the look, the manner, the 
conduct of each toward the other, which is perfectly appre- 
ciated, yet not quite understood ; which leaves room for de- 
licious doubts, and exquisite half-formed hopes, and gentle 
fears, and sweet questionings of the heart. 

But I must on ! May the Power which is mightier than I 
give me strength for this last trial. 

XXI. 

Hegewisch was silent several minutes, apparently nerving 
himself for the recital ; then his countenance grew animated, 
his eyes gleamed with a strange fire, and he exclaimed in a 
bitter tone : 


“ Nessun maggior dolore, 

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
Nella miseria." 

The Florentine was in the right when he wrrote those 
lines. No, there is no greater anguish ; but there is a point 
beyond that — yes ! — where no anguish, nor sorrow, nor tor- 
ment comes ; because there is nothing within by which to feel 
them any more, where all is dead. Dead ! what more hor- 
rible conception ! what so dreadful a reality 1 Vitality, but 


282 


SAINT LEGER. 


no life ; mind, thought, memory, but no hope, no apprehen- 
sion, no joy, no pang ! Why did not the Ghibelline put that 
into his Divine Comedy? 

Life ! shall I tell you what it is % Ah, would it were what 
so many make it : a pumping of air in and out of the lungs ; 
a covering of the nakedness, to the prevention of shame ; eat- 
ing lest the body fall away ; sleeping o* nights, from weari- 
someness of the flesh! — then were man indeed somewhat 
better than a beast. But to have pining wants which gnaw 
the soul, and for which no provision has been made ; to love, 
and feel that love lasts only so long as life ; to labor, and know 
that the grave closes upon all results of toil; to enjoy, and be 
conscious that time withers up the sources of our bliss ; to be 
miserable, and feel that death may not release us ; to undergo 
all the mad pleasures of earth, and all the remorse which 
their indulgence brings : to feel in prosperity that nothing can 
secure against change, and to recognise in adversity no hope 
— Ha! ha! that — that is life! What a precious boon to 
that poor praying beggar, man ! But in me the god of this 
world and the God of the other world are both baffled, for I 
am DEAD ! 

— He paused, leaned back in his chair, covered his face with 
his hands, and groaned aloud. Thus far he had run on with 
a frantic rapidity, which showed that his reason was unsettled. 
I had thought it best not to interrupt him, although he grew 
every moment more wildly excited. But the reaction came 
now ; and with exhaustion came reason and calmness, and a 
profound melancholy. 

Saint Leger — he said, in a subdued tone— -heed not my 
ravings. Look upon me, and behold a desolated ruin. My 
spirit and my body are fit companions. Ah, when shall the 
end be ? I will go on with my story, truthfully, word for 
word. Perhaps you will discover wherein I have sinned. 


SAINT LEGER. 


283 


Would that you could, for it would be a relief to feel I had 
deserved my doom 1 The fiend who is dragging me to per- 
dition could then no longer tempt me to blaspheme the Holy 
Ghost. 

— He shuddered as he uttered these words, and 1 feared he 
was again becoming excited ; but he preserved his compo- 
sure, and presently went on ; 

After several days, I left the chateau to return home. My 
parting with Meta was one of the happiest moments of my 
life. We had not spoken one word of our feelings for each 
other during my stay — positively, not one word; but we had 
talked of almost everything in the wide world ; we had ex- 
changed thoughts and sympathies, and, strange to say, our 
feelings were in exact harmony. The endless, boundless 
world of the imaginative and the imaginable ! Pleasant is it 
when we find in another the echo of what we feel and are ; 
but how much higher the enjoyment when we can appreciate 
in such a one the feelings which we ourselves do not possess, 
and thus enter, soul with soul, into the sweet exchange of 
spiritual harmonies ! By not reducing our feelings to the 
point of mere self-enjoyment, we experience a growing hap- 
piness, the reverse of what those lovers feel who allow the 
flame to die by what it feeds on, and who in this way are ex- 
posed to the curse of a double selfishness. To sustain the life 
of the affections, we require a companion, not a counterpart; 
and they are blessed who mistake not one for the other. 

I said that my parting with Meta was one of the happiest 
moments of my life ; for, like the miser, I wanted time and 
opportunity to tell over my treasures, and hug the remem- 
brance of all that I had gained closer to my bosom. Besides, 
it seemed to me that our intercourse during a separation 
would be kept iip with all the charm of a refined spirituality; 
and then we should enjoy that mysterious influence which 


284 


SAINT LEGER. 


those who love do have over one another when absent, and 
which is more precious to the soul than all the delights of a 
closer, sensible union. Thus E took leave of the baroness, 
and bade Meta adieu, and went on my way ; a halo of bliss 
surrounded me ; I dwelt in a world of ecstasy. What a 
sweet separation ! what happy hours of exquisite memories ! 

XXII. 

How opposite all this to the stem, unyielding, practical, 
which for ever unremittingly does labor, laboring; or to the 
iron necessity that fills the stomachs of the starving by robbery 
or theft; or to the condition of the sick one, languishing 
and ready to die; or to that of the bold blasphemer of 
Almighty God. 

XXIII. 

When I reached my home I found Caspar already there. 
According to my resolution, I passed him without notice. Be- 
lieving, however, that he had not practised upon my father, I 
scorned to repeat to him what had occurred. 

T had but just got to my own apartment, on the first day 
of my return home, when he opened the door and came in. 

“Wolfgang,” said he, with an ingenuous air, “you are a 
more sensible fellow than I ever gave you credit for being. 
You have outwitted two shrewd heads, and how the deuce 
you found us out I can not imagine. You are reserved, eh? 
and regard me with offended dignity? Nay, do not frown; 
do not draw back. Listen to me. I fell in love with Meta. 
You look indignant. Well, then, I will ‘speak the truth and 
shame the devil.’ I fell in love with the Castle of Richstein 
and its dependencies, and old baronies and tenures. Now 
strategy is commendable in the race for a fair maiden. I at- 


SAINT LEGER. 


285 


tempted it with you, and I have been foiled : had I succeeded, 
you would have been foiled. But here is my hand; for once 
I am frank with you. I bear you no malice for the savage 
words you hurled at me the other day. Be as good a Chris- 
tian as I am : forgive and forget.” 

It was with difficulty that I could preserve my self-posses- 
sion during this insulting harangue. When it was concluded, 
I waved my hand and bade him begone. ' 

“Have you nothing to say to my offer of amity?” he 
inquired. 

“Nothing except that I believe you are as treacherous in 
the offer as you were in the fraud you attempted to practise. 
For the sake of our parents, I am content to pass you as I 
would a stranger. Expect nothing more. Come not near 
me or mine ; cross not my path ; practise on me no more, or 
by the blood that is now boiling in my veins, I will crush you 
as I would a reptile beneath my heel.” . 

‘Fool,” exclaimed Caspar, “I was prepared to yield what 
fate had wrested from me ; but as you defy and threaten me, 
look to yourself. You have roused a demon within me which 
I was willing enough should slumber. Look to yourself; for 
the evil day comes to you and yours. Remember the word I 
utter now — Revenged 

He went out in a passion, and departed from the castle : 
it was a month before I saw him again ; then he had resumed 
his usual manner, only he was more quiet and tacitura. We 
met as strangers, having no intercourse whatever. It thus 
became necessary that the baron should understand what had 
passed between us. I gave him an account of the whole af- 
fair. He was almost prostrated at the recital ; the forgery 
touched him to the quick. For a time he was in the deepest 
agony : no one can portray his feelings. His first intention 
was to banish Caspar for ever from his roof ; but I interposed. 


286 


SAINT LEGER. 


My kind and gentle mother also interceded, and it was set- 
tied that he might remain. Caspar, however, could not but 
observe the change which had taken place in the castle. Ev- 
ery eye was averted as he passed, and every look told strong- 
ly of dislike and contempt. 

This seemed not to affect him ; he preserved the same hab- 
its of careless and hardened indifference. And so we lived 
another year. 

Remorseless, the wheel of time sweeps onward. Now 
heavily creaking, it moves with a duller pace than the snail. 
Again it hastens majestically with a thunder-speed. Anon 
the wheel flies round and round with impress as light as the 
footprint of the swift Camilla. But remorseless always, for it 
is driven by Destiny. 

Speak I not an illusion? Moves the hand upon the dial, slow 
or fast, as I suffer or am happy? Does the sun stand still on 
Gibeon while I groan under the torture of the rack ? or has- 
tens it down behind the groves of Vallombrosa as I hang in 
ecstasy on the lips of my beloved ? And yet it is thus our 
feelings give character to the world about us ; to time and to 
eternity. And it is thus that I can understand an eternal hell. 

— He continued to moralize, like a man desiring to gain 
time before submitting to some painful operation. I did not 
interrupt him, and at length he came back to his story : 

Well, another year was gone. I had passed it profitably ; 
I had become a man. During the period, Meta and I had 
spoken to each other of our love. It did not make me the 
less happy, for although my heaven of bliss faded mysterious- 
ly away, it left a terrestrial paradise in its place more natural, 
and therefore I should say happier, in an earthly state. For 
it yields a more desirable existence in a world where joy and 
sorrow are to be shared by trusting and trustful hearts. 

What therefore nature c.’dains, who should gainsay ? Ah, 


SAINT LEGER. 


287 


I had no wish to gainsay it, when I could pour out my whole 
soul in impassioned accents, and receive in return the treas- 
ures of her heart. ’ 

How we talked, and hoped, and planned ! what rich con- 
tributions were levied upon the future ! What images of 
bliss did we see in all coming time, and how did we paint the 
golden hours, when closely united, never to be separated in 
life, earth would become to us an Elysium ! All that I had 
ever hoped for or imagined, all that poets had ever painted, 
or minstrels sung, I found in the soul of my betrothed. 

Gladly would I linger here over that happy year. A life*, 
time of love was crowded into it. 

I was now a man, and began to feel stirring within me that 
leaven of unrest which after a certain period, for some strange 
purpose, works in the human breast unceasingly, urging to 
action and to toil. This did not disturb my soul’s passion — • 
my love for Meta ; it rather gave it force and manliness. 
But I felt that there was something to be seen and known be- 
yond the petty boundary of my own principality. I had a 
healthful curiosity to visit other countries, that I might return 
with more expanded ideas, with a larger benevolence, with a 
fuller view of humanity, so that 1 might better understand my 
true relation with the world. I became fully possessed with 
this desire. Meta, whose love was not bounded by narrow 
selfishness, and who entered into all my thoughts, encouraged 
me in my plan. The baron, my father, approved of it, and 
my dear mother would not say nay, although she shook her 
head mournfully, and her eyes would fill with tears whenever 
I mentioned the subject. 

Twenty-one years six months and thirteen days of life had 
I lived , eighteen years and Jive months had lived Meta, 
when I set out for the old castle of Richstein, to bid her adieu 
before 1 hastened on iny voyage'. There were feastings at 


288 


SAINT LEGER. 


the castle, and there was wassail among the neighboring lords, 
and among the retainers and dependents of Richstein, for the 
lady Meta had returned to her ancestral house, thenceforth to 
be her home. With her had come the lady of Rennewart, a 
proper companion and guide for a young maiden under these 
newly assumed honors. 

We met as lovers should meet. We — [here the student 
stopped, his v6ice was difficult ; his face exhibited the deep- 
est despair] parted — as lovers should part [he ejaculated, 
after an effort] : Twenty-one years and six months and thir- 
teen days lived I ; eighteen years and five months lived 
Meta, and tio more time lived we; no more — no more! 
There stopped the hands upon the dial-plate. Let death and 
hell rejoice — they were victorious. 

It is of no consequence where I voyaged. But, in brief, 
let me say, that I visited the Americas, and doubled the cape, 
where two oceans sweep together. I went among nations 
unenlightened and barbarous, and visited countries civilized 
and refined. I passed to the gorgeous East, and trod the 
precincts of the Holy Land. My tour was not, as my rambles 
about home had been, desultory. I planned it with care. 
Two years was the time I allowed for my absence, and I al- 
lotted a certain period to each division of my journey. Upon 
the map, Meta and I had marked where I would probably be 
at such and such a time, so that we might keep up a close 
union of ideas. 

I passed first, young Englishman, to your country, and 
there learned what was liberty ; therefore I liked your na- 
tion. From England I sailed upon my voyage. 

Meta and 1 had one source of distress. This was the long 
time that must intervene in hearing from each other. In Eng- 
land I could receive frequent intelligence, but, my voyage com- 
menced, a long period would elapse before we should hear 


SAINT LEGER. 


289 


again. She, however, was to send letters in advance to the 
places I was expected to touch at or visit, and I, in return, 
promised to write by every opportunity. 

During the first twelve months after leaving England I heard 
from Meta four times, and from my home as often. For the 
next six months I could not expect to hear from her, owing 
to the infrequency of my route ; but I comforted myself with 
the thought that, after that time, I should be continually ap- 
proaching home, and should hear often of the welfare of those 
I loved, 

I came at last to Constantinople. My pilgi-image seemed 
<lrawing to a close, I could now at least communicate di- 
rectly with my fatherland. I was confident of finding a large 
budget at the Prussian embassy. But I went and found 
nothing. I knew there was some mistake, and so inquired 
again. Still nothing. I asked once more, with great par- 
ticularity. Nothing — nothing at all. 

• I never felt heart-sick before, but I tried to sustain courage. 
In the disturbed state of Europe what wonder if packages 
should miscarry ; but how could so many have miscarried ? 
After all, I did not know how to despair ; my heart was nat- 
urally buoyant, and I could not augur ill of the future, for the 
future had never deceived me. I stayed nearly a month in the 
city of the Moslem, hoping each day that I should hear news 
from home, but none came. So, after hurrying rapidly 
through Greece, I sailed for Leghorn, where I was sure of 
hearing something. And I did hear. There was one leLler 
waiting my arrival at the commercial house to whose care all 
communications for me were to be addressed. One loiter, 
directed in a strange hand, was, by the confidential clerk — a 
withered old man with a bald head and dull gray eyes — given 
to me ; and, taking it, I retired in haste from the counting- 
room, and gaining the street, I walked slowly toward my ho- 
19 


290 


SAINT LEGER. 


tel. I had the letter in my hand all the time. I looked at it 
often on the way, hut did not open it. 

I reached my hotel; went to my apartment; bolted the 
door ; I laid aside my cap and cloak, and sat down. Still the 
letter remained unopened. In one instant I could know my 
fate. I took a long breath, broke away the seal, and tore 

open the sheet My father was dead, that was 

all. Meta — was safe ! 

The letter was written by a friend of the family, announcing 
the sudden death of my father, and urging my immediate re- 
turn. It was dated more than six months previous, and stated 
that duplicates would be sent to every place at which I might 
be supposed to touch. The letter was short, but it spoke of 
my mother as too overwhelmed by the event to write to me. 
My friends were generally well. A post-scriptum, however, 
added, that a courier had just arrived from Richstein, announ- 
cing the decease of the lady of Rennewart. 

In thirty minutes I was en route for Germany. I paused 
neither night nor day. When horses gave out I changed them. 
I had no rest nor refreshment except what I took in my car- 
riage. Night and day, day and night, I hurried on. At 
length, one morning, as the gray dawn began to streak over 
the east, I andved at a little town about five leagues from 
Richstein. There I stopped and ordered breakfast and fresh 
horses. So far, excitement had kept me up ; but now I felt 
the need of something to sustain me. 

I ate breakfast ; I can swear that I did. I remember it 
with distinctness ; but my heart throbbed loudly all the time. 
Again I was on the road, and it would soon bring me to the 
castle of Richstein. 

My heart beat louder and louder. I was tempted to ask 
some questions of one of the postillions, but refrained. The 
Rhine flowed along placidly, as of yore, and through the 


SAINT LEGER. 


291 


trees I could discern the towers of Richstein standing out 
cheerfully in the morning, sun. 

I drove up the main avenue, and getting out before I reach- 
ed the castle, I bade the postillions wait for me. Hastening 
down a private path which led to a secret entrance to the 
castle, I gained the main hall, where I encountered one of 
the old servants, whom I at once recognised. “ Where,” 
said I, “is your mistress'? where is the lady Meta”?” 

The old man’s countenance fell ; his voice faltered, but he 
made out to answer : “ In her own apartment, sir ; next to 
the library.” 

I bounded up the stairway ; I passed through the narrow 
hall ; I reached Meta’s room ; I flung open the door. Meta 
was sitting unoccupied, looking out at the window. She 
seemed just as beautiful and as blooming as when I left her. 
Rapturously I called out her name and ran toward her. She 
turned upon me an unmeaning look, started from her seat, 
and ran to the other end of the room. Oh, God ! what did 
it mean ! 

I called to Meta again. I repeated my own name, and 
asked her if she did not know me. She screamed aloud at 
the sound of my voice, and falling on her knees, began praying 
piteously for mercy. “ No ! no !” she exclaimed, “ I will 
never speak of Wolfgang again ! — I will only pray for him ! 
I must pray for him — I will pray for him ! — though you 
beat me, murder me, give me that hateful thing to drink — 
pray for him I will ! but nothing more ! nothing more !” 
And then she burst into tears, and went on weeping so sadly, 
that I knew not what to do. Oh, merciful Creator ! the 
truth burst upon me — my Meta was mad. But I had still to 
know the worst — still to feel the iron enter deeper into my 
' soul. 

The door opened, and Caspar entered. ‘ Soho, Mr. 


202 


SAINT LEGER. 


Knight-Errant!” he exclaimed; “you have returned, eh? 
T have no objections to greeting you at the proper time and 
in the proper place, but you must not come here into my wife’s 
apartment 1” 

I did not tremble, nor turn pale ; I grew composed. My 
heart ceased to beat loudly, and fell back into its customary 
measured pulsation. I saw it all, and stood firm. “ Is Meta 
your wife ?” said I, sternly. 

“ She is,” said the other ; “ and the sooner you leave this 
room, the better. She is very nervous, as you perceive, and 
your presence is particularly disagreeable to her.” 

“Wretch — devil — hell-hound!” said I, fiercely, “your 
life is in danger !” 

The villain smiled contemptuously and placed his hand 
upon his dagger, which he half unsheathed. 

“ Nay, draw it ; I say to you that I will not leave this 
room!” 

“We shall see,” said Caspar; and going out he returned 
presently with three or four men servants. 

“Put that man out from here, and turn him from the 
castle.” 

“ The man who touches me at this moment, shall look fo» 
his soul in eternity the next.” 

The men did not stir. 

“ And as for you,” I said, turning to Caspar, “ do as I bid 
you : draw your dagger ; defend yourself the best way you 
can ; for your time is short.’ 

So saying, I rushed upon him, twisted the dagger from his 
hand, and seizing him in my arms, swung him round and 
round as if he were a plaything, and hurled him through the 
lattice-work clear out of the window, to the pavement below. 
By Heaven, I did ! I hurled him out upon the stone-work as 
I would toss a biscuit overboard into the sea. 


SAINT LEGER. 


293 


I glanced round and said, “ Whose turn next ? who wants 
to follow?” 

The room was vacant in a trice. 

I turned to look for Meta. She had crept up into the cor- 
ner of the room, and was crouching behind some drapery that 
lay there. I touched her. She looked up at me with her 
once beautiful but now wild eyes, and exclaimed piteously, 
“ Oh, do not, do not come so near me ! I have seen you in 
dreams, and in visions, and in the voice of waters, and have 
prayed for your soul’s welfare, my beloved !” And then she 
burst into tears again. I could endure this no longer. I 
took my betrothed in my arms. I went down the staircase 
and out at the secret entrance, and traversed the private path 
until I came to the carriage. I placed Meta in it, and getting 
in myself, took her in my arms, and ordered the postillions to 

drive swiftly to . They obeyed. The wheels flew 

round ; the distance was rapidly passed. Meta slumbered 
upon my breast as sweetly as an infant. 

At length the walls of my paternal mansion were in sight. 
The wanderer had returned from his pilgrimage, and had 
brought home his bride. Presently we reached the castle. 
I was in my mother’s arms. I know not how. The whole 
household were almost instantly around me, and received 
me as one restored from the dead. Meta was carried sleep- 
ing to a quiet chamber, and there I watched her. I did not 
sleep. 

She slept peacefully for several hours. I did not leave 
her an instant during the time. At last she awoke. With 
what eagerness I had waited for that moment ; but, alas ! I 
was to be disappointed ; her reason had not returned. When 
I spoke to her, she commenced weeping, as if her heart would 
break. The burden of all she said was, that she had prayed 
for me, that she would pray for me and for the welfare of my 


294 


SAINT LEGER. 


soul; then she implored my forgiveness, and again cried 
piteously for mercy. 

I was distracted. How I bore my anguish I know not. 
My mother came in. At the sight of her, Meta was soothed. 
She nestled her face in my mother’s bosom, and was tranquil. 

On the first opportunity I sought an explanation. The bar- 
oness could give none. She could only say that after my de- 
parture everything went on happily and well until the death 
of my father, which had occurred suddenly about seven 
months previous ; and that the lady of Rennewart had died un- 
der a similar attack on the succeeding day. My mother was so 
overwhelmed by the dreadful affliction, that for some months 
she was unable to leave her room ; and when she did come 
out, she learned that Caspar had espoused the lady Meta; that 
they were privately married, a dispensation having been pro- 
cured for that purpose. She had not seen Caspar since the 
death of the baron, and upon going to Richstein to visit the 
lady Meta, she was refused admittance upon some frivolous 
excuse. This was all my mother could tell me. Would 
you believe it, that in this enlightened age, and in this en- 
lightened country, such an outrage could have been commit- 
ted so secretly, and so surely? But two devils planned it, and 
hell gloried in the plot. 

How my heart was crushed, day by day, I need not tell you. 
To see my betrothed, apparently in health, fair and beautiful 
as ever, and yet, a maniac or an imbecile ! How can I sit so 
calmly and tell all this ! Why will not my heart bleed ! — 
why can I not feel ! 

I watched over Meta almost every moment, and when I was 
not with her, my mother took my place. 

I gave not a thought about the fate of Caspar, but news 
found its way to the castle, that he had been taken up bleed- 
ing and insensible, and that, although he was severely hurt, 


SAINT LEGER. 


295 


his injuries were not considered fatal. I was not the destroyer 
of my brother. I am thankful now that it was so. Then I 
did not care. 

Weeks passed on. Sometimes I would take hope, from 
Meta’s becoming more quiet than usual. She would look at 
me whh an almost natural expression, and then would com- 
mence weeping violently, insisting, as usual, that she would 
pray for me. At last she fell sick. It was a blessed relief, 
for I could alleviate her physical suffering, although I could 
not minister to the troubles of her soul. 

A burning fever attacked her. Her strength was pros- 
trated. A celebrated physician, my father’s friend, was called 
in. He took great interest in the case, and watched it with 
sedulous attention. It was a pleasure to see him at the bedside 
of his patient ; so careful, so discriminating, so judicious. To 
this physician, this friend, I had given no word of explana- 
tion ; but I saw that he knew all. 

One morning, after paying his usual visit, he called me into 
another room. “ I think it best,” said he, “ to advise you that 
a crisis will soon take place in the disease under which the 
lady Meta is languishing : probably to-morrow, perhaps to- 
night. If she comes out of her present state with her reason 
restored, she will not again lose it, but — she will die. She 
can not survive many days. If, on the contrary, she comes 
out of it with a dull and settled melancholy, she will recover ; 
but she will always remain in imbecility.” 

I was again seized with terror. I turned away, and went 
back to Meta’s chamber. She was in a deep slumber. I 
knelt by her bedside, and prayed that her reason might come 
back to her, and that she might die. 

The sleep continued through the night. During the whole 
time I sat by her and watched. The disease had done its 
office upon that lovely handiwork of God. There were the 


296 


SAINT LEGER. 


sunken eye, and the pale, thin cheek, and the pallid brow ; 
yet these were not half so appalling as were all the marks of 
life and health, and fresh, living beauty, which she had retained 
at the expense of a soul in ruins. 

The morning came, and she still slumbered. I gazed at 
her by the light of day, and thought I saw a change on her 
countenance; calmness, and quietude, were there. 

No one was in the room save Meta and I. At length she 
breathed heavily and opened her eyes. I trembled so much 
that my knees shook together. She looked faintly around, as 
if the place were unfamiliar, and then fixed her eyes upon 
me. A thrill of pain seemed to dart through her, and then a 
ray of joy illumined her wan face. She raised her hands, 
and extended them toward me. “ Thank God,” she mur- 
mured, and swooned away. When she came to herself she 
was very weak, but she was tranquil. She could scarcely 
speak, but I saw that she was happy. I bent over her, and 
she whispered, and called me Wolfgang. She asked where 
she was, and when I had come back, and whether I had been 
all the time well. 

She had no recollection of anything unhappy or unpleasant 
respecting herself, and I thanked Heaven for this drop of real 
mercy. She said she had been ill, dreadfully ill, for months ; 
and had been tormented with horrible dreams and visions, too 
horrible to think of, or to mention, but that she felt better 
now. This was all she said. 

I feared, as her sense became clearer, that the truth would 
dawn upon her : but it was not so. She continued to speak 
of her long illness, dating its commencement from the sudden 
death of the lady of Rennewart — the last event she recol- 
lected. 

She continued nearly without change for several days. She 
was exti*emely w’eak, but daily gained a little strength. Still, 


SAINT LEGER. 


297 


she herself had no hope of recovering. She would hold my 
hand for hours, and, when too feeble to converse, gaze at me 
as if her soul was drinking in delight. 

Oh, happy unconsciousness ! Oh, blessed memory, that for 
once forgot its office ! 

“ This is not the promised consummation, Wolfgang, dear- 
est,’^ said Meta to me one evening. “ But what matters it ? 
our spirits are wedded. And, if I precede you to the bright 
world beyond, your soul will find out mine : and then we shall 
never part again. No voyaging, then, Wolfgang, no voya- 
ging, then !” 

My heart was bursting. I leaned my head upon her pillow 
in agony. 

“ Nay, this is unkind. The strong should have confidence. 
But ah, I see ! God, in mercy, when he takes away our 
strength, bestows upon us faith.” 

“ Do you remember, Wolfgang, those happy hours at 
Rhineck ^ In a little while we shall be spending happier 
seasons than those. I believe it. I know it,” she continued, 
while her countenance grew bright with the radiance of 
heaven. 

“ You will not be very happy, dear Wolfgang, when I am 
gone ; but a little while, and then, we part no more — no 
more. Here now, upon the borders of the other world, I 
feel that there was no earth, no dross, in my love for you ; and 
this is why I know we shall be one hereafter.” 

For a few days Meta continued to gain strength, slowly, 
and I began to hope : hope ? to fear, rather ; for how could I 
ever name to her the dreadful truth. I forced the subject 
from my mind, and gave myself entirely to that suffering 
angel. 

Even the physician seemed as if he thought his prediction 
might prove false. But it was not to be. Two weeks had 


298 


SAINT LEGER. 


elapsed, when one morning Meta complained of faintness. 
Upon examination it was found that internal hemorrhage had 
commenced, caused by the violence of the fever. All that 
skill could suggest was put in requisition to check the at- 
tack, but it was of no avail; she died — she died sweetly, 
gently, lovingly, in the morning, while the sun was beaming 
brightly, and the river was running placidly on its course ; 
when birds were singing and the world was alive to cheerful- 
ness and joy. 

It was a time for her to die. I held her hand clasped ten- 
derly in mine, when the spirit left its home ; and then, I had 
only the hand, but no Meta — ah, Gron ! no Meta. 

— Hegewisch remained for some time silent, and then went 
on in a different tone and with the air of one relieved from a 
dreaded task : 

I had yet to sustain another shock. My kind physician 
sought an early opportunity to speak to me in private. 

“ My young friend,” said he, “from the bottom of my soul 
I pity you. What I am about to say, you must hear, and, if 
you can, forget. I was your father’s early friend and com- 
panion. We were together always. I attended him upon 
his death-bed. I tell you — you, his son — that the baron died 
by poisonJ** 

“And the Lady of Rennewart said I convulsively. 

“ In the same way, without doubt. I did not attend her.” 

“ And Caspar 1” 

“We have said enough. Adieu.” 

Here was room for a world of horrible surmises. So long 
as Meta lived, I thought only of her. Under the pressure of 
this horror, a new feeling took possession of me : it was a de- 
sire for vengeance. 

I dared not deliberately imbrue my hands in a brother’s 
blood ; so I turned all my hate upon his coadjutor and abet- 


SAINT LEGER. 


299 


ter, Father Hegel, I did not try further to solve the mystery 
connected with the late terrible events. I guessed enough. 
And therefore my revenge sought out the monk. 

I deliberated upon many plans, but in none could I please 
myself. I tried to invent some new and devilish torture to 
which to subject his vile body while I should stand gloating 
over the spectacle. I thought of seizing him secretly, and 
starving him slowly to death. No scheme which man or fiend 
could suggest, did I fail to turn over in my mind. At length 
I determined to kill him before the very altar, while he was 
offering, with his unholy breath, some prayer to Heaven. 
Tlien I could send his soul to hell — doubly damned by hypo- 
critical offerings to the God he was mocking. 

The monk was accustomed on certain occasions to cele- 
brate mass at a chapel near our castle. I watched for the 
time and for the season ; both came ; and I sat out one morn- 
ing to perform the sacrifice. 1 was late in gaining the chapel, 
and as I came up I perceived a crowd around the entrance. 
I made my way hastily to it, and beheld F ather Hegel lying 
in the agonies of death. He had fallen in a fit of apoplexy. 
There he lay, his sensual features full of blood, while the dis- 
tortions of his countenance showed his agony. In a few mo- 
ments he was no more ; and 1 was cheated of my revenge. 
I did not rave till then. I turned away, and before the temple 
and the altar cursed God. I rejected all belief in a Savior, 
and blasphemed the Holy Ghost. Hell was not black enough 
to darken my heart. I had borne everything till now — and 
now, everything was insupportable. I ran with incredible 
swiftness back to the castle. I gained her room. I locked 
myself in — I threw myself upon her bed. I grew wild and 
delirious; I began to be in pain; I flung the door open and 
shouted for help. My mother and several of the servants 
came. That night the fever attacked me, and for weeks I 


300 


SAINT LEGEK. 


was prostrate under its burning rage. I could never have 
recovered without the attention of a tender parent and de- 
voted physician. Yet I did recover, but, as you see me, with 
these hollow cheeks — this repulsive countenance — these 
sunken eyes. 

I determined to leave my home, for the fiend followed me 
wherever I went, whispering that Caspar lived. So I took 
leave of my mother — one bright, moonlight night, when she 
was fast asleep — by kissing her many, many times. You 
know she was the only one left who cared for me : but — I 
went on my way. I have spent most of the time since at the 
universities. I do not know why, but study and toil of mind 
are best for me. Once my mother discovered where I was, 
and I had to go back with her, but I made my escape, and 
came here to Leipsic. 

I have tried very hard to feel. I have wished that some- 
thing might excite me ; that my life might be in danger, so 
that, instinctively, 1 should put forth my strength to save it. 
I avoid no danger ; I keep open house ; here is my treasury, 
[the student pulled out a drawer, without lock or key, nearly 
filled with gold pieces] but nobody robs the strange fellow, 
ha — ha — ha ! They are afraid of me. I sleep in yonder ; and 
sometimes I lay all night and think of Meta and myself at the 
old chateau. And my heart seems less dead — and then, I 
sleep — to wake, always the same — always the same. Now 
leave me ! 

1 took my departure in silence. 

Thus ends the story of Wolfgang Hegewisch. 


END OF BOOK THIRD. 


BOOK IV 


’12 ^lAEITAN Ts Kol aWot dcoi, Soit]Te [loi Ka\io ysvetrOai rapSodsv, ra^cjOep 
Si oaa £%<«), TQis kvTOi elvai [aoi (pi'Siat 


Phcedrus, 279, B. 


Oh thou beloved Universal Numen, and ye other Divinities, grant that I 
may become more beautiful within, and that whatever of externals I may 
possess may be all in harmony with my inward (spiritual) being. 


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BOOK FOURTH. 


I. 

The casement is open. The delicious perfume of summer 
finds its way hither unbidden. The still, solemn pines tower 
up in the twilight. Across the Avon the new forest stands 
lonely and silent. The river runs between, dark and deep, 
always flowing ; season after season, year after year, age 
after age, flowing on; an emblem of permanence and of 
change. 


II. 

I FEEL like labor. Go to ! I will spoil this beautiful twi- 
light. — Thomas, bring candles 

Now comes the moth to seek destruction in the flame. 
Hark : the cricket is chirping its unvaried note ; the nightin- 
gale whistles his sweet but melancholy strain. The owl 
and bat, the fire-fly and will-o’-the-wisp, they too are busy 
enough. 

Where is the lively squirrel that has been springing all day 
from bough to bough? where the pigeon and the hawk? 
where the lark and the vulture, the linnet and the eagle, the 
coney and the fox ? ^ 

The snake no longer glides across the path, and the toad 
has found a resting-place. ‘ But the owl hoots from the tree, 


S04 


SAINT LEGER. 


and the bat flits crazily through the gloaming; the fire-fly 
and will-o’-the-wisp — see ! there they sparkle and flicker 
and brighten again ! 

“ Where is God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night?” 


III. 

Reader, who hast borne me company thus far, if indeed 
you have entertained a sympathy in this narrative, then let us 
rest a moment here. 

Perhaps you are young, and if you are young, stand up, 
and bless God that just at this very instant, you are brought 
to a pause. 

Bring out your hopes and look at them. Look at them ; 
but not through a Claude-Lorraine glass. Look at them, and 
tell me, do they belong to the petty future of earth, or to 
the infinite of another life ? Can you not answer % Alas ! 
what an unhappy thought that you know not yourself ; that 
you should be always journeying on with — a stranger — 
yourself a stranger to you, and you a stranger to yourself! 
an awful companionship. Great God, what if you be destined 
to live thus for ever ! 

Perhaps, you are no longer young. Nevertheless, you 
have hopes — yes, hopes, still. 

Bring out your hopes and look at them. Look at them ; 
but not through the dark vapor of disappointment or despair. 
Nay, shake not your head so gloomily : but arouse ; and do 
you too thank God that you are brought for a while to this 
stand-still, as the world rushes on and leaves you. Do not 
be impatient : do not say to me, “ Hands off! I must over- 
take my comrades yonder ; see how they get the start of me.” 
Stay, something better is in store for you than this unnatural 
race which you are running ; and what balm is there in that 


SAINT LEGE 11.' 


305 


word “ better !*’ Let it continue always better — and how 
will you approximate by-and-by to the TO BEATIETON! 

Come, then, youth and man and maiden; come and sit 
down with me, as the evening deepens into night. There — 
I have put out the candles — and the moth is safe. 

Let us bring out our hopes and look at them. Let us do 
it in a cheerful, hopefiil, heartfelt way. Thank God we are 
here yet, safe upon the earth ; and the earth does seem safe 
to man; the enduring earth, the kind mother, the patient 
nurse, which yields us sustenance and supports our life. 
While we talk of a Beyond, we would not forget thee, pro- 
lific Parent, with thy changing seasons ; glorifying and renew- 
ing thy days in the hoar-frosts of winter, in the balmy breath 
of spring, in the triumphant maturity of summer, and in the 
fading glories of the fall. Earth, we bless thee. Surely we 
may bless thee, if the Creator pronounced thee good. Shall 
we not forgive thee the bearing of a few thorns and thistles 
for all the fruit which we have pressed from thy bosom, or 
shall we complain, that in the sweat of our face we have to 
till the ground, since it yieldeth us her strength hy tilling ? 

But to our hopes : these hopes shall indicate our destiny. 
Arrest and cut off all that are anchored here ; strip the heart 
of the vain promptings which flutter around it ; silence the 
busy whisperings of passion and self-love ; then tell me — 
youth, man, maiden — what have we remaining? Is there a 
void — an utter void — left in these hearts of ours? nothing 
possessed, nothing enjoyed, no residuum but the bitter ashes ? 
Is it even with us “ as when a hungry man dreameth, and be- 
hold he eateth : but he awaketh, and his soul is empty : or as 
when a thirsty man dreameth, and behold he drinketh ; but 
he awaketh, and behold he is faint, and his soul hath appetite?’* 
Then indeed have we made shipwreck when the voyage has 
scarce commenced, and we have only to look to it that such 
20 


306 


SAINT LEGER. 


shipwreck be not irreparable. To the work — quick, quick! 
that the voyage may not be lost. 

But arrest and cut off and silence these whisperings and 
promptings and hopes, and do our hearts still beat with their 
usual time] Do we behold a broad expanse beyond the ex- 
treme limits of the actual ? Is our gaze into this expanse 
only rendered brighter and clearer by the cutting away of the 
superfluous foliage ? and can we with a lofty look and cour- 
ageous heart and trustful spirit, lay our hands upon our breast 
and feel the Infinite stirring within us ? Youth, man, maiden, 
I give you joy if this be so ; for then indeed are we safe ; 
safe, though the possibilities which surround us are fearful to 
contemplate ; though we may not control the hour or the cir- 
cumstance ; though grief may be preparing for us a potion in 
the same cup from which we have drank delights and joys ; 
though everything about us seem dark and unpropitious ; 
though everything be dark and unpropitious, yet are we 
safe — safe. 

Farewell, youth, man, maiden ! Perhaps we shall meet in 
another world ; perhaps we may then call to mind how, for a 
few moments, upon the banks of the Avon, in gentle War- 
wickshire, we stopped and communed together. 

IV. 

What had become of Kauffmann 1 I was to meet him on 
the second day after our interview ; several weeks had elapsed 
and he had not made his appearance. At first I wondered at 
his prolonged absence, but I soon became so interested in 
Wolfgang Hegewisch and by the society of Theresa Von 
Plofrath, to say nothing of studies which I pursued systemat- 
ically under the learned professor, that I had almost forgotten 
Kauffmann, and his company of Free Speakers. 


SAINT LEGER. 


307 


One morning after breakfast I was seated in my own room. 
Whether I was thinking of my last evening’s conversation 
with Theresa, or of the Latin thesis upon which I was engaged, 
I can not tell. I had accomplished little or nothing, although 
I had been an hour at my task. My door was open, I held 
my pen in my hand, and a partly finished sentence, began 
half an hour before, had dried in upon my paper, together 
with sundry attempted continuations, which had been cor- 
rected, written over, and dashed out. I heard a step upon 
the stairway, and then a step through the hall, then a step 
into my room ; a bold, manly, hopeful, straight-forward step ; 
but I did not look up, I did not feel like looking up ; for just 
at that moment the strong elastic physique of the step was 
discordant to my feelings ; so I held my head over the paper, 
brought my pen to a line with the sheet, and was about chang- 
ing a participle into a gerund by way of emendation, when I 
received a friendly blow upon the shoulder, and at the same 
time a hand was held out for me to shake. Then I looked 
up — it was Friedrich Kauffmann. 

“I see I must announce myself — my name is Kauffmann, 
once a friend to you ” 

“ Now a friend of me,” interrupted I, laughing. “ How 
could you expect to be recognised after running away, stay- 
ing away, and breaking an engagement I” 

“Spem bonam certamque reporto," 
said he, in a cheerful tone. 

“Se non 6 vero 6 ben trovato,” 

returned I, looking him full in the face, and discovering that 
hope was indeed in the ascendant there. 

‘‘How you are metamorphosed; what has happened to 
you ? Give me your hand again. You are happier than you 


308 


SAINT LEGER. 


were ; better than you were, your mind is in health ; it was 
not in health when we separated. KaufFmann, I rejoice with 
you ; pray tell me what has produced this change V* 

KaufFmann’s countenance assumed a serious expression. 
It was evident he had something to communicate. Shutting 
the door, he proceeded to seat himself close by me. 

“ Saint Leger, I have settled in my own mind a matter that 
has always perplexed -it.” . 

“Well.” 

“ It is the relation of the sexes to each other.” 

“ Ay!” 

“ So sure am I that I am right, that I do not fear to tell you 
all.” 

“ Pray go on.” 

“ I will. Do you remember our last discussion ? Do you 
not recollect — some wizard must have put it into your head 
— you told me I had had in my time’ a love affair, and had 
quarrelled with my friend because she would not yield to me?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Saint Leger, every word was true ; true verhatim et liter- 
atim. And had you struck me to the earth I should not have 
been more astounded. 

“ ‘ Surely,’ said I, ‘ something must be wrong in what I have 
done, if a mere acquaintance lights upon it in this way.’ So 
I went home and locked myself into my room, and I said, after 
I had turned the key : ‘ Friedrich KaufFmann, thou goest not 
out hence till thou hast sifted thyself as wheat. Self-confident 
though thou art, thou shall yield if thou ought to yield and 
I communed with my heart, and I tried to commune with 
God ; I brought to mind everything that took place at that 
last interview — that unfortunate interview, between Margaret 
and myself. I weighed everything truthfully. I had done 
the same before, but in different scales. Then I thought of 


SAINT LEGER. 


309 


creation and life, and happiness and unhappiness, and what 
should cause the one and the other ; and I asked myself. To fit 
us for a hereafter, must we of necessity suffer — always suffer ? 
Dare I blame my Maker before I have searched in myself for 
cause of censure? And so I came — standing up alone be- 
fore God — to believe, and to feel, and to know, that much as 
I had loved Margaret, I had not loved her aright, or thought 
of her aright, or treated her aright ; and then a new light 
broke in upon me, and I unlocked the door and ran out, and 
earth was bright. The next day I had seen Margaret and all 
was explained.” 

“ But the relation of the sexes?” said I. 

“ I intended that for another interview, when we both have 
more leisure. I come now on a special. mission.” 

“ N ay, but I am curious to have a synopsis at least of your 
theory.” 

“Very briefly, then, it is this: The most perfect spiritual 
happiness consists in the spiritual union of a man and woman, 
just as the most perfect domestic felicity consists in a well- 
adapted temporal union. How rare y are both kinds blended ! 
How are we taught, from youth up, that man’s province is 
command, and woman’s submission ! Is it not absolutely ab- 
surd to suppose the Creator should make one sex to be in 
subjection to the other ? the good Gop to ordain and perpet- 
uate an eternal tyranny ! Besides, is it not folly to suppose 
friendship can exist except between beings mutually free ? 
The spiritual union makes the perfect life. And there can 
not be spiritual union where one spirit is the master spirit 
and the other the subservient spirit. I spurn the cant idea 
of our times, that difference in sex is an organization of earth, 
with reference only to the continuance of the race. So sure 
as there is another life, will male and female be so through 
eternity ; they are destined to seek and find happiness in each 


310 


SAINT LEGER. 


Other; together to fill the object of creation, perfection in 
unity. But I can stay no longer at present ; I came to en- 
gage you for this evening.” 

“ But Margaret and yourself, and this perfect life, including 
the spiritual and the domestic, are they so happily blended 
that you have no fears of another ” 

“None; fellow-student, none,” interrupted Kauffmann, 
rapidly. “ Saint Lcger, had I not felt sure of your sympathy 
in this matter, my lips had been closed,” he said, suspiciously. 

“ You have it : believe me, you have it, my friend. And, if 
your theory requires a little more perfect development at your 
hands before I embrace it, remember I am not the less re- 
joiced at the renewal of your hopes.” 

“ I believe you ; take my hand ; and now say, will you be 
at my rooms at seven, precisely ?” 

“ For what?” 

“To accompany me to a meeting of the Free Speakers.” 

“ I fear I must decline : on the whole, I can not join your 
company.” 

“ Oh, Father Jupiter ! 

‘ Proh superi ! quantum mortalia pectora csecaB 
Noctis habent !’ 

Who asks thee to join us ! What a cautious, calculating 
wretch you are. But you are an Englishman, and I will not 
condemn you for the vandalism that is part of your nature. 
Know then that I have obtained the consent of our society, 
that you, undeserving as you are, should be present on one 
of our mystical nights, when you will see no one but the 
scribe, and hear all that your ears shall catch. This is a dis- 
tinction never before granted to living man. By Heaven, we 
refused Goethe himself, who wanted, as a matter of curiosity, 
to be present on one occasion.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


311 


“ Say no more ; I go, and thank you, upon my knees, for 
the privilege. Will that do 
“ Yes. Live well.” 

And so saying, Friedrich Kauffmann left the apartment, 
with the same elastic, cheerful step, with which he entered it. 
I rose, and looked out into the garden. I beheld Theresa in 
a small arbor, engaged in securing a vine which had broken 
loose from its fastening. Snatching up the thesis, I tore it into 
a hundred pieces, and the next minute I was assisting Theresa 
to train the vine. 


V. 

I CONCLUDED to go with KaufFmann to the “ mystical meet- 
ing.” At the appointed hour I was at his rooms, and we set 
out together. 

“ Have you no instructions to give me,” said I, “ before we 
enter ? How am I to act] — what shall I do ?” 

“ You are not to act, and you are to do nothing but listen 
with all your ears.” 

“And what is the meaning of ‘ mystical night’ ? ” 

“ The night when we speak ‘ unsight, unseen,’ and treat 
generally of hidden things. We then venture often upon 
daring suggestions, not to say assertions, believing that some 
truth will be heaved up among the error.” 

“ But who is truth-sifter to the society ]” 

“ Hush ! we shall get into a discussion, and it will spoil my 
sybiline tranquillity. Besides, here we are at the door. Go 
in at the entrance ; you are expected. You will find the 
scribe in his seat, and a vacant chair for you ; take it, and say 
nothing.” 

“ But you ]” 

“ I enter from another direction. You will not see me 
again to-night. . Farewell.” 


312 


SAINT LEGER. 


VI. 

I PUSHED through the door, and found myself in a dark, 
narrow passage. I had nothing to do but stumble along till 
I came to the end of it, which I did presently, and discovering 
another door, I opened that, and found myself in a room of 
moderate size, tolerably well lighted, containing twelve little 
chapels or recesses, across which curtains were suspended 
from the ceiling, so that the occupant could remain unseen. 

In the centre sat the scribe, with a large book upon a desk 
before him. Near him was a vacant chair, the only one to be 
seen. I marched in and took my seat, with as much nonchal- 
ance of manner as I could assume. The scribe did not ap- 
pear to observe my entrance ; he did not look up, or alter a 
muscle of his countenance. Not supposing that I was literal- 
ly limited to the use of my ears, I took the liberty of casting 
my eyes around this strange apartment. Directly over the 
door at which I entered was inscribed, in large letters : 

“ Unrsliiji #ni” 

Upon the wall opposite the door was the following : 


ELEMENTS. 

NATURE. 

COMPLEXION. 

PLANETS. 

Water. 

Cold and moist. 

Phlegm. 

Venus and Mai's. 

Fire. 

Hot and dry. 

C holer. 

Sol and Mars. 

I Earth. 

Cold and dry. 

Melancholy. 

Saturn and Mercury. 

j Air. 

Hot and moist 

Sanguine. 

Jupiter. 


Over the scribe’s table I read : 

C:!)atumim, i^ccasj)!)(m, Cffajarim. 
^ul contemplatUnic ctraturatum co^noblt creatorm. 


SAINT LEGER. 


313 


There was also an inscription at the top of the curtains, 
over each recess, suck as : 

3K,enounce— denounce. 

3a,obe, but besivc hot. 

^ Hnjog, but seeb not to possess. 

aSe tranquil — be tranquil. 

CKrapple fcoitl) anb unmasfe jjoupself. 

^ 13are to be bJi'se. 

Kotljms Voitbout its cquibalent.'"' 

Hbevp action shall babe its recompense. 
aSberp procebure sfjall babe its bi'nbication. 

^Itonjis a result. 

^re iiou contenteb toitb ^oarself ? 

Xt b)ill be tbe same storp to^morroto. 

Looking through the room, 1 could see nothing but the 
curtains before the recesses, the sciibe, and the scribe’s desk. 

In a few minutes the mystical meeting commenced by the 
scribe’s striking upon the desk with a small hammer. I was 
all attention, and prepared to take my friend’s advice and use 
my ears. Presently a voice was heard from behind one of 
the curtains : 

First Voice: No one can be better than the being he 
worships ; therefore worship the Perfect Being. 

Second Voice : He who fulfils what he designs not, is a 
machine ; he who fulfils not what he designs, is a driveller. 

Third Voice : Deity can not sin, because Deity can not be 
tempted. For with what could Deity be tempted? V"hat 
could Deity gain by sinning ? Man, poor wretch ! is badly 
enough off : he carries both Deity and devil in his bosom. 
He has every temptation to sin, and every inducement to 
keep from sin. The temptation is. pressing, close at hand; 
the inducement is weak, afar oflf. Therefore a man who in 


314 


SAINT LEGER. 


the midst of besetting temptations still preserves his integri- 
ty, is the gi'eatest possible object of moral contemplation. 

Fourth Voice: True enough. For angels are but milk- 
sops, after all. An angel would be all the better for a good 
night’s carouse in honest Moritz’s wine-cellar ; even to the 
ruffling of some of his feathers. What a sorry appearance, 
though, would the dreadful next morning bring ! But your 
Man — he is the creature ! 

Fifth Voice : And your devil is more of a milk-and-water 
affair than your angel. One looks on, smiling and good-tem- 
pered ; the other, grinning, and grimacing, and whimpering 
— an inverted dog-in-the-manger ; caught himself, he snarls 
because everything created is not caught. Verily, the devil 
is a milk-sop. 

Sixth Voice : No more, gentlemen, of what does not con- 
cern us. I would speak of man. God created man perfect. 
The Tempter gave him a hint nf the pleasure of sin j man 
took the hint, yielded to the Tempter, and gulped sin like a 
flood. A perfect being could not have yielded ; therefore 
God did not create man perfect, for he carried within him the 
elements of imperfection : the power to sin. 

Seventh Voice : That is masterly ! Now let us know for 
whose sake was man made ; for the sake of God the creator, 
or for the sake of man the created % If the former, it seems 
to have been a bungling piece of business ; if the latter, why 
worry the poor devil with your moral salves and cataplasms, 
your nostrums, salts, and smelling-bottles ? Let him have his 
own way if a free agent ; and beyond all, let him have his 
own way of having his own way, say I. 

Eighth Voice : Gentlefolks, pray forbear; we are cer- 
tainly getting beyond our depth. We shall have to mount 
stilts at this rate. Therefore seek helps. Remember the 
proverb : “A dwarf on the shoulders of a giant can see far- 
ther than the giant himself” 


SAINT LEGER. 


315 


Ninth Voice : Still, let me be the giant. 1 would find 
another giant, and mount him. - 

Tenth Voice ; Verily, this is a strange assemblage ! Be- 
hold an illustration of the bid saying : “ Children, fools, and 
drunken men, speak truth.” 

Eleventh Voice : How of drunken men? 

Tenth Voice : “ In vino Veritas ^ 

Twelfth Voice : I am truth ! I am* pale and slender, but 
unchangeable ; I am poor, needy, and a wanderer ; I can 
promise nothing, for nothing comes of promises. Whoso 
gives me shelter gains nothing here ; nay, he loses much ; the 
excitement of false images, false shows, false honors, false 
symbols, false words, false deeds. The man who shelters me 
must lose all this. 

First Voice: A word, neighbor, about this same truth. 
Why is this commodity subject to so much alloy, when of all 
commodities it is most injured by alloy ? Why is it necessary 
to make truth palatable by a seasoning of make-believes ? 
Why is it considered a mark of wisdom to conceal our 
thoughts, and a mark of folly to expose them ? Why is it, as 
our brother has said, that but three classes stand charged with 
telling truth : children, fools, and drunken men? 

Second Voice ; I will have none of you. Mistress Truth! 
What could I do with you, naked as you come to me ? Clothe 
yourself with the befitting and graceful drapery of prevarica- 
tion, and you may perhaps pass current with us. But to take 
you as you are — I would as soon walk about naked myself. 

Third Voice : Nay, but strip man of all his vanities, and 
what is he 1 Take from him what sin has entailed upon him, 
and what is he ? Relieve him from the care of maintaining 
'.ife ; the care of providing clothes, food, and a place to sleep, 
to eat, and to rest in ; the care of preserving life and of en- 
joying life j from education, and the need of education ; and 


316 


SAINT LEGER. 


you arrest all the busy occupations of humanity, and make 
man 

Fourth Voice (interi’upting) : Go on, brother ; work away 
at man j you have but just began. Strip him of all his van- 
ities ; strip him of his follies ; strip him of his deceits ; strip 
him of his pretences and his shows ; strip him of his feelings ; 
strip him of his thoughts; strip him of himself — then what is 
he ? Pshaw ! man is as his Creator intended him to be ; a 
capital chap, after all, is man. Go on and prosper, mad 
fellow ! 

Fifth Voice : Not so fast : cease this trifling, and be seri- 
ous, for the feelings we are now cherishing are defining the 
spiritual world in which we shall live for ever. 

Sixth Voice : True. How many lives are going on at this 
moment together — how many hearts are now beating with a 
stirring selfishness ! 

Seventh Voice : And the man who revolves about himself 
as a centre is a lost man. 

Eighth Voice : Why are you not better ? 

Ninth Voice : Why am I not worse % Answer me that ! 

Tenth Voice; After all, is there not something unendur- 
able in man’s condition ? — groaning under laws which he had 
no voice in enacting, and forced to live with instincts, and pas- 
sions, and desires, and impulses, which he had no agency in 
creating. Surely man is not himself. 

Eleventh Voice; Hearken to me. You en* greatly. 
Man mayor may not be himself; but man is only himself 
when necessity no longer binds him ; but necessity always 
binds the sensuous man. It is when his moral nature asserts 
its superiority that man fears no necessity ; for he rises supe- 
rior to necessity. 

Twelfth Voice : Well spoken. 


•SAINT LEQER. 


317 


VII. 

I HAVE put down enough of what passed at the mystical 
meeting of the Free Speakers, to convey some idea of their 
proceedings ; these went on without intermission for two 
hours, during which the wildest ideas were started, while of- 
ten the best sentiments were uttered. The medley was truly 
an odd one. At length the scribe struck with his hammer 
upon the desk. Silence succeeded. The scribe then rose, 
and turned to leave the room. As a matter of prudence, I 
thought it best to follow ; so I pushed on after him, but he 
disappeared at a side-door. E marched straight into the street. 
And thus ended my first and last visit to the Mystical Society 
of the Free Speakers of Leipsic. 


VIII. 

Say what we may, assume what we please, as to the relative 
position of man and woman, it is an important era in our lives 
(I speak for my kind) when we first begin, not only to be sus- 
ceptible to female influence, but to require it as a want of the 
soul. For it is then that the errors of the heart levy their first 
fearful contribution, to be continued through all time, and, for 
aught I know, through all beyond. It is then that the passions 
are either brought into subjection or become tyrants, and lead 
perhaps to interminable perdition. Certain it is, at all events, 
that there are wonderful changes in his spiritual relations, un- 
seen it may be, but none the less real, which man owes to the 
influence of woman. 

It is not easy to describe this influence, for we lack the 


318 


SAINT LEGER. 


psychological terms by which to describe it. It is not objec- 
tive, positive, or opposing, but rather pervading; entering 
upon the slightest occasion into the inner sanctuary of the 
soul, and purifying by its presence the whole inner life. 

Take, for example, a happy surprise. You come unex- 
pectedly upon one you love — perhaps you have not acknowl- 
edged to yourself that you do love — and feel a delicious, 
thrilling, quickening of the heart. To this succeeds tranquil- 
lity and a subdued happiness, while you are sensible that there 
is a mysterious something which surrounds your friend, as 
with a soft, delightful zephyr. It meets you, fills you, and 
leads you captive. You linger, enchained by a spell which 
you have no desire to break, and everything is forgotten in 
the absorbing delight of that moment. Now I care not how 
depraved the man may be, I care not how sensual, how deeply 
steeped in sin : for the time being, and while under such an 
influence, he is pure. It may not be lasting, but for the mo- 
ment this influence is effectual. 

Can we explain this magnetism ? No, nor can we explain, 
although we may understand, the same power in its higher and 
more important relations. 

This much I had written, almost unconsciously, after glan- 
cing over the account of my interview with Kauffinann. It 
fell from me like a soliloquy, yet I hesitate to erase it : on the 
whole, I will let it remain. 

As for myself, the influence of the sex upon me began 
early and has continued — always. Whether or not it was 
peculiar, the reader may judge. I will to speak truth of my- 
self. God only knows (I say it with reverence) how difficult 
is the task ; for it is not every one who is familiar with his 
own experience. 


SAINT LEGER. 


319 


IX. 

I FIND it difficult, in this part of my narrative, to select 
from the many interesting occurrences which transpired dur- 
ing my stay at Leipsic, those which had a controlling influence 
over me. Unless, however, I adhere to my resolution of de- 
tailing these alone, I shall swell my MS. to an inconvenient 
size. 

X. 

Day after day the glories of my new philosophy faded 
gradually away, while I no longer experienced the sustaining 
power of my former belief. Still, I was not altogether be- 
yond its reach. Unconsciously I found myself falling back 
upon the truths of revelation, while at times the remembrance 
of a mother^s prayers and earnest exhortations came over me 
with such force that I was melted to tears. But these were 
momentary influences. My general state of mind was chaotic. 
To be sure, the instruction I gained in my several studies 
was not lost upon me ; but it did not reach my heart. 

I had confided in Theresa, and that saved me. How little 
I felt this at the time ! how little indeed do we ever feel the 
importance of events while they are taking place ! And do 
YOU account it puerile, this confiding that I speak of? Are 
you made of such stern stuff that you can not understand it ? 
Look back a little ; turn your heart inside out, and see if you 
can not find the remains — perhaps scorched to ashes, but 
still the remains — of some such feelings. Withered, blasted 
suppressed, neglected, trampled on, they may be ; but they 


320 


SAINT LEGER. 


have been there. And did it ever occur to you that what 
seems now so insignificant in your eyes will one day assume 
an air of imposing magnitude, and what seems now so vast 
and important will presently dwarf into mere littleness % 

From Theresa — the spiritual, heaven-minded Theresa — I 
learned the value of the practical. Without her appear- 
ing in the least aware of it, Theresa^s soul had upon mine 
a remarkable effect. During my various occupations, amid 
the changes of the new life I was leading, in moments of 
weakness and temptation, in times of depression and 
exaltation, in all these, dear Theresa, thou wert my safe- 
guard and my life. Instead of her spirit reposing upon mine, 
my spirit found repose in hers. I began by degrees to think 
more of what Kauffmann had said. I felt that I had within 
me a strength of soul and purpose able to cope with the 
mighty ; yet I daily renewed my strength from the heart of 
that young girl ! 

Yes, in my struggles afler a healthful state of life — I say 
it with truth — Theresa Von Hofrath was my chief, perhaps, 
sole assistant ; and this, apparently, without any design. There 
was a charm in her very being which touched and swayed 
and subdued me. 

But how shall express my feelings for Theresa ! May I 
not better say I had no feelings for her ! she was not so much 
a particular object of thought and attention ; she rather gave 
life and tone and character to all my thoughts. What liberty 
is to a people, she was to me. As liberty is nothing positive, 
but only a favorable status, so the influence of Theresa pro- 
duced in me a moral status, of a nature best adapted to the 
circumstances by which I was surrounded. What was de- 
veloped by all this we shall see. 


SAINT LEGER. 


321 


XI. 

After a full deliberation ; after patiently wearing out a 
twelvemonth in bewildering my brain with German meta- 
physics ; after listening to lecture upon lecture, and system 
upon system ; I concluded deliberately and decidedly, that 
my sojourn in Leipsic had not brought about, and would not 
bring about, the desired result. 

I had come to Germany a demi-god. My watchwords 
were, no subservience to opinion,” “ no limits to human 
wisdom,” “consult Nature in all her modes,” and so forth. 
My mouth was filled with vain arguments ; for vain I knew 
them to be ; that is, I felt a consciousness, in that lower deep 
below the lowest deep, that I was all wrong; that I was 
dreaming, and should one day awake to a sense of my real 
condition. Then when I came among the learned doctors, and 
lecturers, and schoolmen — solemn mockers and grave triflers 
— and found how they were all pulling and turning and mys- 
tifying, with their = + and — , 1=1, and “no man must 
must'^ — when I found that my old question was not answer- 
ed, and no result came of all this foolery — I felt assured that 
I had missed my mark. From this I sometimes found relief 
in taking up a volume of my Lord Bacon. Often could I 
clear my brain from the mists that thickened around it by 
perusing the plain and intelligible lessons of wisdom which 
that mighty mind had left to the world. In the same way I 
could shut out strange visions of the fiightful demons of the 
Hartz — those hideous and unnatural creations of the German 
poets — by reading the Midsummer Night’s Dream, or the 
Masque of Comus. In Germany I learned to appreciate the 
philosophy and the poetry of my own land. 

21 


322 


SAINT LEGER. 


XIT. 

I KEPT on studying, and perplexing my brain. Besides the 
public lectures, I continued to enjoy the private instruction 
of Von Hofrath ; and his lessons were not of a nature to be 
forgotten. But lectures and lessons were not what I desired 
— were not what I needed. As I have said, after I had been 
in Leipsic a twelvemonth, I still found that what troubled me 
in England troubled me in Germany : the actual^ the prac- 
tical^ the what and the why. The students made no advance, 
it seemed to me, in these. Each professor had a theory of 
his own and powerfully advocated it. At times I almost pined 
for my English home, and for English scenes. I recollected 
the matter-of-fact events of my life with the greatest pleasure, 
and called to mind, with surprising minuteness, the associa- 
tions of my childhood. When I thought of my former feel- 
ings, and contrasted them with my present bewildered state, 
which was becoming daily more bewildered, I decided that I 
had nothing to do but to throw my philosophy overboard, and 
take in for ballast what I best could. 

Thus from a religiously educated youth I became a free- 
thinker, and from a free-thinker I came to be a kind of 
worldling. All this time, 1 believe I earnestly desired to 
think aright ; and so far as my actions were concerned, I had 
no special reason to reproach myself. After all, my spirit 
experienced some relief from being let down from the clouds, 
even at the risk of grovelling on the earth. So I determined 
to give up the chase after an unintelligible mysticism, al- 
though I should be accused of falling from my high estate, 
and of exhibiting a low and unworthy degradation. 


SAINT LEGER. 


323 


The professor, who had taken care not to dictate to me 
during what he was pleased to call my transition state, watch- 
ed this change with interest. He regarded me, in a degree, 
as a skilful and experienced physician regards a patient who, 
though apparently sick unto death, he feels confident will at 
length rally under judicious treatment. Herr Von Hofrath 
was too sagacious a minister to the mind diseased to interfere 
with a rule equally applicable to soul and body — wait on 
Nature. His motto was, assist where you can, but be sure you 
do not retard by injudicious interference. When I was ready to 
condemn my whole routine of labors, he would say, compla- 
cently : “Well, well; it is something to have got so far as 
that ; but not too fast ; take care lest while you gather up the 
tares you root up also the wheat with them.” 

“ Especially,” I would add, “ if I can not tell the tares from 
the wheat.” 

“ By their fruit ye shall know them ; therefore wait.” 

“ How long 1” 

“ Till you have done asking questions. Now come with 
me ; I am reading Shakspere’s King John. I wish to use 
your copy. Come, you shall read to me.” 

Such was the considerate manner of the professor during 
this miserable period of my life. 


XIII. 

Theresa, always sweet and gentle, grew even more sweet 
and gentle when she perceived my restlessness and discon- 
tent. Every word she uttered came from her heart, and her 
heart always beat true. She would assure me with so much 
confidence that I should yet enjoy peace of mind, she would 
calm ray impatience with so much tenderness, that I almost 
believed her. 


324 


SAINT LEGER. 


How shall I picture Theresa as I wish? To do this I 
should detail exactly what passed between us. I acknowl- 
edge that I can not perform the task. The scenes glide 
away, and I can not grasp them. When I would do so, Pro- 
teus-like, they change and fade and vanish altogether. 

Something out of ourselves engrossed us always, and the 
hours passed imperceptibly. As the strong ask not them- 
selves whether they are in health, so it never occurred to us 
to ask if we were happy. What a character was hers ! She 
had no bashful timidity, yet a rare appreciation of what be- 
longed to her sex. She was so truthful and so earnest that 
she stopped just this side of heroism ; she was not an en- 
thusiast either : she was too thoughtful, to'o gentle, too con- 
siderate. 

Theresa and I were friends. If friends, what had we in 
common ? A desire for happiness. So we talked and walk- 
ed and read and studied together. But we never spoke of 
the feelings we entertained of each other. I doubt if we 
did entertain feelings to speak of ; had we done so, the uni- 
versal soul-pervading influence of her spiritual, would have 
been narrowed down to the individual and the positive. Then 
we should have been in love ; in love : a specious term, which, 
like the paradise of fools, has never been bounded or defined. 
Not that I disbelieve in the phrase, but what to believe in it I 
do not exactly know. That true love can exist without 
friendship is impossible : indeed I believe that it must rest up- 
on friendship or it will die. And friendship can be predi- 
cated only of hearts which are congenial, whose currents flow 
and harmonize together. 

But to return. The idea of loving Theresa-^ as the word 
is usually employed — of claiming her for mine and mine on- 
ly, was what I never thought of, and if I had thought of it, 
the idea would have distressed me. No : much as we were 


SAINT LEGER. 


325 


thrown together — and our communion was uninten-upted — I 
never entertained a wish that Theresa should be to me more 
than she then was. The thought of drawing her to myself 
and calling her mine only, seemed sacrilege. Was our com- 
panionship then so entirely spiritual? It seems so; and 
when I thought of it I believed I had divined what Kauffmann 
labored so hard upon : “ The true relation of the sexes.^’ I 
began to think that the world had gone on hitherto all wrong ; 
that the social condition of man was founded upon error, and 
that a false idea of this relation was at the bottom of the 
trouble. I said to myself, if in the resurrection they neither 
marry nor are given in marriage, why may there not be ex- 
amples of the same spiritual companionship here on the earth ? 
and why should not such examples become universal ? 

In this way my ideas wandered, resting first on one hypo- 
thesis, then on another, while my opinions continued unsettled. 


XIV. 

But, shall I confess it, there were times when in the society 
of Theresa, my heart craved something different from her ; 
when I yearned for the jnortal Psyche; when the Venus 
Aphrodite, not the Venus Urania, seemed to inspire me. I 
pined for some exquisite “creature of earth’s mould,” who 
should unite purity with her mortality, who should possess 
the embroidered girdle which fills the beholder with love and 
desire, who should excite feelings entirely different from 
those I entertained toward Theresa. Some being who should 
realize to me the happiness of an earthly passion, and afford 
the enjoyment of an interested affection. 

At length I longed to love as the children of earth love. 

And this longing, did it make any difference in my feelings 
for Theresa ? None whatever. She was still the same to 


326 


SAINT LEGER. 


me. In these new heart developments her influence was as 
effectual as it ever had been. It softened and purified and 
spiritualized these very earthly longings, it neither destroyed 
nor suppressed them. 

As for Theresa herself, notwithstanding all our intercourse, 
I never could get quite to the bottom of her heart. I know 
not what I should have found there ; but sometimes I thought 
the discovery would make me happy. 

XV. 

Returning one afternoon from the town, I found a note 
traced in a female hand, requesting me to come to the lodgings 
of W olfgang Hegewisch. Since the interview in which he had 
given me his history I had been frequently to see him. At 
times I found him convalescing, and again, worse ; he was 
however evidently growing weaker, and I watched him with 
much solicitude. When he desired me to stay I remained, 
and when he was not in the mood for conversation I shorten- 
ed my visits. By thus humoring his feelings, my society be- 
gan, as I thought, to have a happy effect upon him. The 
last time I had seen him, he seemed in better spirits than usual, 
and a natural cheerfulness of manner prevailed, which com- 
pletely metamorphosed the unfortunate misanthrope. I could 
not help remarking to Hegewisch the agi’eeable change. 

“Yes, my friend,” replied he, “I have changed; thank 
God, my deliverance is near.” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

He put his hand upon his heart, shook his head, and with a 
faint but not mournful smile replied : 

“ Something here tells me that a few days will release me 
from the world. Is not that a cause for cheerfulness % Of 
late my mind has been clearer. I owe you much for it. 


SAINT LEGER. 


327 


I have looked over my life and feel that since that fearful 
event, a frenzy has possessed me. What I have done, what 
I have said, what I have thought, in that frenzy, I scarcely 
know, but I am confident my Maker will not hold me ac- 
countable for it. I have considered lately that, since I can 
look only upon the course of events as they happen on the 
earth, and do not know what will be the administration of 
things hereafter, I have not regarded the whole circumference 
of. my being, and that I have complained too soon. Do you 
wonder, after what I have experienced, that, now my brain 
is clear and my mind calm, death should be a great release 
to me.” 

“ No.” 

“You speak like a friend ; without affectation, but with 
kindness. Hear me. I shall never leave this room. But I 
would bid the world farewell with cheerfulness and with 
dignity ; resignation I have not to practise. The days of my 
youth return to me, and I feel that innocent buoyancy of 
heart which I used to enjoy. Does this not betoken a happy 
future ? Were not the words of my Meta prophetic 1 A few 
days and I shall know. I have sent for my mother. She 
will be here to-night. My kind physician — my father’s tried 
friend — is already here; he insists upon remaining with me 
although he admits that there is no hope. I would bid you 
adieu. You touched my heart when I believed it lifeless. 
You have befriended me much every way. Would that I 
could befriend you in return. Listen to me. Leave this 
place ; break off your present mode of life. You think too 
much, you do not perform, although performance is your 
province. You will become crazed here; you know enough 
of books, at least for the present ; strike out into the world ; 
interest yourself in its pursuits ; mingle in practical life even 
at the expense of mingling in its follies. Return to free, 


328 


SAINT LEGER. 


happy England. You can serve your fellow men in some 
way. It is time you made the attempt. Apply your energies 
in that direction. My friend, I speak with the august presci- 
ence of a dying man, when I say to you, Shake off this 
chronic dream-life and act. Farewell!” 

I was deeply affected. “ I can not leave you so,” I said, 
after a silence of some minutes. “ I will not leave you until 
you have promised to send for me if you are worse. Do not 
refuse.” 

“ I will promise, but do not come. You will almost make 
me feel a pang at parting.” 

XVI. 

From what passed at this interview, I felt that it would be 
an intrusion again to visit Hegewisch, unless summoned. I 
looked daily with a feverish anxiety for the promised message. 
It is not easy to describe with what trepidation I opened the 
note of whicu I have spoken. From its contents I could 
gather nothing. I have the note in my drawer ; it is in a 
woman’s hand, cei.ainly, though the characters are traced 
hurriedly, and without much distinctness ; 

“Sitt v^erv 0aint Ceger tie ©efdtttgFeit ^)aben unb ©orjiifragen, 
9^^0. — . — 0trci§e.” — “Will Mr. Saint Leger have the kind- 
ness to come to No. — , Street.” 

I left the house and hurried to the town. I turned down 
this street and across that, threading my way into the remote 
section where Hegewisch had his lodgings, until, anxious and 
out of breath, I arrived at the dooi*. I did not stop at the 
entrance, but passed directly up stairs, without meeting any 
one. Coming to his apartment, I knocked gently. There 
was no response. I knocked again : no answer. I opened 
the door and entered ; the room was vacant. I cast my. eves 


SAINT LEGER. 


329 


toward the apartment of which Hegewisch had said, with 
bitterness, “ There I sleep.” The door into it was open, and 
there indeed I discovered Wolfgang Hegewisch, partly- 
raised upon the bed, which had been moved into the centre 
of the narrow chamber. On one side, and with her arm 
under the head of her dying son, sat the baroness ; upon 
the other, regarding the young man’s countenance with dis- 
criminating solicitude, stood his friend and physician. 

As I approached nearer, Hegewisch turned his eyes tow- 
ard me, and smiled his recognition. This caused his moth- 
er to turn around. I heard my name pronounced feebly by 
my friend. The baroness rose hastily, came toward me, 
took my hand, drew me to the other side of the room, and 
burst into tears. I could not remain unmoved. I tried in 
vain to prevent the signs of my emotion. What was I to do ? 
what could I do to comfort the afflicted mother] At this 
moment the physician entered. He addressed her kindly, 
but with firmness : 

“ Madam, how can you give way to the force of your grief, 
when by so doing you cause your son such pain ] As for 
myself, his calm and dignified, I may say his heavenly com- 
posure, fills my breast with a happiness, unusual, and not 
easily accounted for. I pray you be calm.” 

By this time I had recovered sufficiently to join with the 
physician in endeavoring to assuage her anguish. She made 
a strong effort to become self-possessed. 

It is not this single blow,” said she, “ that so unnerves 
me ; it is this in the succession of horrid events, crowning all, 
and crushing by its added weight the little strength that re- 
mained to me.” 

I inquired how my friend was. The physician shook his 
head. “Alas ! he may die at any moment. The renewal 
of the spasms must overpower him. He made me promise to 


330 


SAINT LEGER. 


send for you before it was too late. You may go in. He is 
so calm, that I have no fear of his being excited." 

I proceeded to the bed-side, followed by the physician and 
the baroness. “Oh, Father of Mercies!” murmured I, 
“ what have become of those days of happy wooing on the 
banks of the Rhine ? Is there anything tangible in the awful 
past I Should life to man be made up of such contradictions !” 

I took the hand of Hegewisch. He had scarce strength to 
return the slight pressure I gave it. But that smile again 
illumined his countenance with an expression delightful to 
contemplate. 

“ You see 1 have kept my promise. I feel a dreadful 
weight removed from my heart. 1 am happy. I am calm 
too. Were it not for my mother, I should not have a shadow 
crossing my spirit. I say again, remember not what I have 
uttered in my wild moments. My griefs have been greater 
than I could bear; but now — ah, now — Meta — at last my 
Meta beckons me hence,” 

“ Mother — mother 1” he whispered, suddenly dropping my 
hand, and gasping for breath. 

She flew to his side. The spasms had returned. 

“Meta, dear Meta! Gently, mother — gently. Lo ! I 
see — .... 

He was dead. 

I could do nothing in that awful moment. 


XVII. 

At a subsequent interview I narrated to the afflicted parent 
all that I had known of her son. I had to tell the story over and 
over again. In some way she discovered that I was the only 
one who had regarded him kindly, and her gi'atitude knew 
no bounds. 


SAINT LEGER. 


331 


XVIll. 

The remains of the young Baron of rest in the sombre 

tomb of his fathers, at the old castle on the Rhine. The 
baroness still survives. Solitary and desolate-hearted she 
■waits with resignation the summons to follow her husband 
and her son. 

And Caspar? He, too, lives — lives in the Castle of Rich- 
stein, in possession of wealth and influence and power. Full 
of life, and in the midst of his days, he prosecutes his selfish 
plans — successfully. But he is Gon-forsaken, and abhorred 
by man. 

He also waits the summons. 

Have I digressed too much in narrating the story of Wolf- 
gang Hegewisch ? I trow not. It impressed me. It convey- 
ed its lesson, and therefore I record it. 


XIX. 

The months and the seasons glided on. I was not always 
to live in Leipsic ; not always to be a student, and I knew it. 
Scenes of action which lay before me, though far in the dis- 
tance, began to assume a real aspect. Away from my coun- 
try, I had the opportunity of viewing it from a new point of 
observation. I began to reflect upon its constitution, its man- 
ners, its customs, its laws. Occasionally my blood would 
quicken as ambitious desires and fancies floated through my 
brain, while something whispered that I was dreaming away 
ray life. Whispered ? Heavens ! At times the words of the 


332 


SAINT LEGER. 


dying student : “ Shake off this chronic dream-life and act !’' 
rang in my ears as if sounded by the trumpet of the archan- 
gel ; while the quiet earnest question of Theresa : “ Is it not 
action that you most require V’ penetrated my heart, leaving 
a deep dull pang there. 

I could endure it no longer, and just as I had resolved to 
break away from Leipsic, I received this letter : 

“ London, May 10, 17 — . 

“Why do I write to you when it is too late? Why do I 
remind you of your promised aid when I am beyond the reach 
of aid ? It is because my heart is bursting, and I must have 
one solace ; that of telling you all. Oh ! my kinsman, pity 
me. My father is dead. He died in that fearful island ; a 
place to me of abominations. He died and left me — how can 
I blister the page by naming it — the affianced of Count 
Vautrey ! I know not how it was. I know not how it is. 
My mind is confused ; my heart is dead ; I, myself am nothing 
— nothing. When I wrote to you a long, long time since, I 
expected, from several strange hints which I had received 
from Count Vautrey, to have been forced to put myself under 
the protection of my English friends. But the threatened 
catastrophe passed away. Years ran by, happy years to me, 
ah ! never to return ; but I can not allude to happiness now. 
A few months ago, I was hastily summoned to my father. I 
hurried away to St. Kilda, and found him on his death-bed. 
He was suffering patiently, and was so dreadfully changed 
that I scarcely recognised him ; he had deferred sending for 
me till the last moment. 

“ It was evident that he must die. My father — die ! But 
whom, think you, found I as his attendant? — Laurent De 
Vautrey! — I -did not understand it. I can not now under- 
stand it ; but so it was. My father^s manner to me was kind 
and tender. He would call me often to his bedside, appa- 


SAINT LEGER. 


333 


ently with the intention of communicating something, and 
then, as if unable to speak, would caress me tenderly, and 
bid me sit by his side. He grew weaker and weaker. I 
longed to know what was in his heart. I dreaded to know, 
too, for something told me it had reference to Vautrey and 
myself. One evening he seemed more feeble than usual. He 
beckoned me to come to him ; I obeyed, but he did not speak. 
At last I addressed him : ‘ Dear father, tell me what is on 
your mind ; it concerns me, I know. Do not fear, I will re- 
ceive it as your wish.’ He started as if an adder had stung 
him. Then he tried to smile, then he looked sadly and shook 
his head. ‘Speak, I implore you,’ I cried. ‘Name your 
wishes, and you will find in me an obedient child.’ ‘ My 
daughter,’ was the response — and my father’s voice grew 
husky as he spoke : ‘ My daughter, you must wed Count 
Vautrey.’ I neither shrieked nor started; I did not change 
color nor faint ; I did not fall prostrate ; I stood erect ; I 
stood firm; but — do not think I rave — could the entire 
misery of a lifetime the most miserable be concentrated upon 
one single instant, and the heart steeped in it, scarcely should 
it equal the wo which that brief sentence brought upon me ! 
‘ I will,’ was my finn and almost sudden response. My father 
was startled, but not deceived ; he knew the effort which those 
two brief words had cost me. ‘ Do you not,’ he demanded, 

‘seek to know ’ ‘ Not one word. Oh, my father! it is 

enough that I know it to be necessary, else you would not 

have commanded it.’ ‘ I would not. But let me tell you * 

‘Spare me — spare me,’ again interrupted I. ‘ Let my time 
be devoted to making your sufferings lighter ; forget me, I 
shall do well enough, by-and-by.’ 1 muttered the last words 
to myself, but my father still surveyed me anxiously. Pres- 
ently he said : ‘ Shall I call Laurent here V ‘ If you please.* 
Count Vautrey was summoned. My father pronounced us 


334 


SAINT LEGER. 


affianced, and I hurried to my apartment. Then — oh! then, 
I gave loose to my feelings, not by tears and lamentations — 
these were denied to me ; but by — oh God 1 I dare not speak 
of the horrors of that awful night. About midnight, I was 
told that my father was dying. I hurried to his bedside, but 
it was too late. He did not recognise me, and after a few 
moments he ceased to breathe. 

“ I will not attempt to describe my situation, or what I suf- 
fered. I left St. Kilda and came directly hither. I made it 
a stipulated condition with Count Vautrey, that he should 
leave me to myself until the time fixed by my father for the 
nuptials. Nuptials 1 I fear to tell you where I am going. 
I know that you are a Saint Leger, and that you would hasten 
to relieve me. But I will not be relieved. I too am a Saint 
Leger. I have promised that I will wed Count Vautrey, and 
by Heaven 1 will keep my vow. How fearlessly I write ; 
but ah 1 my kinsman, there are times when this iron resolu- 
tion bends and quivers like the pliant reed, and I, a very wo- 
man, weep, and weep, until it should seem that I had wept 
my heart away. Oh God 1 what shall I do. I will keep my 
promise to my father. He had a fearful reason for exacting 
it. Something mysterious, and dark, and inexplicable, is con- 
nected with all this. But come fate — come destiny — the sac- 
rifice is ready. Farewell. 

“ Leila Saint Leger.” 


XX. 

Again, at a crisis in my existence, did a letter from Leila 
bring me back to myself. There was a certain something 
about that letter which conveyed the idea to me more forci- 
bly than the former one, that Leila regarded me as a kinsman 
merely. Strange to say, at this time the discovery did not 


SAINT LEGER. 


335 


disappoint or grieve me. What had become of those enthu- 
siastic feelings which I experienced at St. Kilda % Where 
were the transports which I enjoyed when, gazing at the 
sparkling stars from the summit of Hirta, I thought of Leila, 
and Leila only ? Again I exclaimed : Shall there ever be 
anything tangible in the awful past ? and some fiend whis- 
pered, Never ! and I shuddered and prayed. But the letter 
served its office. It roused me. It disenchanted me. I read 
and re-read it, in hopes that something in it would throw light 
upon her residence. But I looked in vain. I carried it to 
Theresa, and asked her advice — women are so quick-witted 
in such matters. 

Theresa perused the letter carefully, then raised her eyes 
to mine, and said : “ The case is pitiable ; how wrong the 
decision ! Do you know if she loves somebody 

“ I do not.” 

“ It seems to me that her heart is interested. So passion- 
ate ; so determined ; alas ! with such feelings, if she has 
lived in the world — and you say she has — she has been in- 
terested ; her heart is occupied.” 

“ Why do you think so, Theresa ?” 

“ How can it be otherwise ? Who can resist necessity ? 
It rules everywhere ; hunger demands food at the point of 
the stiletto ; weariness woos the balmy breath of sleep on the 
dizzy height where the slightest misstep would be fatal ; the 
body seeks and must have its accustomed exercise or it loses 
its accustomed strength ; and the giant passions which inhabit 
around the soul, they must have scope and exercise and food, 
or they prowl within and ravage and devastate and lay waste 
there. There is no armor against that which is ordained.” 

“You give strange attributes to your sex.” 

“ Attributes !” said Theresa, with more warmth than I had 
ever seen her exhibit ; “ how dearly does woman pay for all 


336 


SAINT LEGER. 


her attributes. If her mind is strong, it frets and chafes be- 
cause it is cramped and confined to the narrow sphere which 
man has chosen to allot to it. If alas ! her soul is passionate, 
how surely will it be consumed within her, or become the 
subject of injury and abuse. If she is loving and trustful, 
how is she doomed to disappointment or disgust. If her 
heart yearns for the companionship of man, how chilled and 
crushed does that heart become, when she finds that man 
treats her as a playing rather than as a companion. If she 
scorn the trammels with which her sex are confined, she en- 
counters misapprehension and the severest censure. Rebel- 
lious, she is coerced ; submissive, she is by turns caressed 
and trampled upon. To wait and not murmur; to expect 
and not complain ; to live and move and have her being, as 
if she lived not, moved not, and had no being ; to be sacrificed, 
to suffer, to be silent — this is the destiny of woman.” 

“ Theresa ! where did you gather such strange conclu- 
sions 

Here,” she said, laying her hand upon her heart and 
looking at me in her earnest manner, yet just as tranquil, as 
composed, as ever. “ I do not say that I have experienced,” 
she continued ; “ but my spirit teaches me that I speak truth.” 

“ How do you remain so calm always % Why are you 
never excited ? What power do you invoke to maintain such 
serenity ?” 

“ The power of the soul is in itself ; it does not need hu- 
man appliances. I seek the aid of the Most High to sus- 
tain it.” 

“ Theresa, have you loved 

There — I had asked a question which I had been waiting 
for an opportunity to put ever since I first saw my friend. 
Twenty times at least I had it on my lips and each time I 
lacked the courage to speak out. Now I had spoken. What 


SAINT LEGER. 


337 


a bold home thrust ! Wliat a direct downright not-to-be- 
escaped interrogatory to one who, when she spoke, always 
uttered truth. 

“ Theresa, have you loved T’ She directed her calm blue 
eye upon mine, and its gaze seemed to search my being. 
In that eye I could read little, save perhaps a slight, almost 
imperceptible, look of scorn; no — not scorn — but rather an 
enduring self-relying look which at times resembles scorn. 
Her brow appeared broader, her countenance nobler; but 
she did not speak, and in this way we sat looking at each 
other. I had committed myself, and could not recede. I 
repeated the question. “ Have you loved 

The eye of the maiden changed again — that strange calm 
imperturbable eye ! — and became almost mournful, as she 
uttered with quiet distinctness, “No.” 

I took a long, deep breath; perhaps, in the excitement 
of the moment, respiration had unconsciously been checked ; 
this would account for the relief I experienced, for I did 
feel relieved. I was reproached too for my rudeness ; and 
I hastened to ask forgiveness. 

“ Pardon me, Theresa ; it was very uncivil ; but I could 
not resist the impulse.” 

“ It was not right ; but you can not tease me,” said 
Theresa, gently. “ Let us speak of your relative. You 
should do your utmost to save her from so dreadful a fate.” 

I proceeded in the conversation with a light heart. “ Do 
you really think I should interfere ?” 

“ I think you should seek your cousin and endeavor to ahcr 
lier decision. AYhen the happiness of a young creature is 
staked upon such a certain issue it seems dreadful to allow 
it to come to pass. . Behold an opportunity for you to act ; 
set about it. See what you can do.” 

22 


338 


SAINT LEGER. 


XXI. 

Here our conference was interrupted. I retired to my 
room. In a short time I had finished three letters ; one to 
my father, one to my mother, and one to Hubert Moncrieff. 

In the letter to my father, I asked permission to leave 
Leipsic and make a tour of the continent ; this had been 
promised me when I left England, and I ventured to suggest 
that the time had aiTived when I could best profit by the 
permission. 

To my mother I wrote a letter full of questions. I asked 
an explanation of the singular life which my aunt Alice led — 
it was always a forbidden theme at home ; I begged for an 
account of her history ; and I inquired about Wilfred Saint 
Leger, and Leila, and Laurent de Vautrey. 

To Hubert I wrote, as I suppose young men usually write 
to each other. I challenged him to come over and accompany 
me in my travels. I gave a glowing description of what we 
should hear and see and do. I spoke of our friendship, 
our congeniality of feeling, etc., etc., and wound up with 
a reference to our exciting voyage to St. Kilda. In a post- 
script, I inquired if he had heard anything more of the 
Woedallah or his daughter, and in a nota-hene^ asked, “ Wliat 
of Vautrey; did you ever hear anything further of him?” 

After I had despatched these letters, I felt more at ease. I 
did not doubt that my father would consent to the proposed 
tour, as its advantage was advocated by the professor, who 
certified in an ample manner to the proficiency I had made 
as a student. Besides, I had nearly attained my majority : in 
another month I should be one-and-twenty. 


SAINT LEGER. 


339 


XXII. 

I WAITED patiently for answers. Hubert's came fiist. 
Youth best sympathizes with youth. My postscript and nota- 
hene were first noticed. He had a long story of the death 
of the Wcedallah ; of the sudden appearance one night of 
the “ beautiful Leila/' at Glencoe, attended only by her 
servants ; of a long conference with the earl, his father, of 
which he could discover nothing ; of her leaving the next 
day ; and of his endeavors to ascertain (on my account, as he 
assured me) whither she was gone. He could find out noth- 
ing, discover nothing, except that Margaret, who was ac- 
quainted with everything. Heaven only knew how, had inad- 
vertently spoken of Leila as living at Dresden, that he had 
affected not to notice the remark, and had afterward tried to 
find out something more, but in vain. That he knew nothing 
of Vautrey at all; but rumor had associated his name with 
that of the fair Leila. 

Hubert regretted that he could not join me in the proposed 
tour, but the thing was impossible; the whole house was in 
uproar preparing for two bridals. His sister Margaret was 
to be married to a young English nobleman, and his brother 
Francis, on the same day, to the Lady Annie, now sole heir- 
ess of Glenross. “ So you see," continued the letter, “ the 
fates keep me here, when I would a thousand times rather he 
away with you. We must bide our time ; but we will have 
a scamper together yet. By the way, old Christie often in- 
quires for you. He says ye are a ‘ lad of mickle spirit, only 
a bit whittie-whattieing like ; mair the pity, purr fellow.' I 


340 


SAINT LEGER. 


will write you again after these confounded — pshaw, I mean 
these happy — bridals are over. Good-by.’* 

At the bottom of the sheet was a single line, in an exquis- 
itely neat hand, “ Do not forget Ella.” 

How much good that letter did me ! How it opened the 
door to my pent spirit ! How' suddenly it revived all the ex- 
citing scenes I witnessed in the highlands ! And how dis- 
tinctly it brought back the captivating Ella Moncrieff ! Be- 
sides, I learned where Leila was ; at least I was not inclined 
to doubt the correctness of the information. 


XXIII. 

In a few days letters from home came. I eagerly ran over 
the package : my father’s first, and looked far enough to see 
that my request was granted, and then, without stopping to 
read it, the one from my mother. It was like all her letters, 
anxiously affectionate, showing the strong and ever-watchful 
solicitude of parental affection. In reply to my queries, 
she said no one could account for the malady (so my mother 
termed it) of the Lady Alice ; that in her youth she enjoyed 
all that station, wealth, beauty, and a remarkable intellect, 
could bring ; that she was universally sought after and court 
ed ; but was from childhood possessed of strange eccentrici- 
ties ; her head was filled with plots, adventures, and tales of 
chivalrous deeds ; she was always playing some strange part 
in some strange performance ; she hated men as a race, or 
rather despised them ; she believed them all to be unreliable 
and corrupt, and when young took delight in humbling the 
haughtiest; and by degrees she excluded herself from the 
world, until, by habitual indulgence in her mode of life, she 
became what she then was. Singular scenes were said to 
have transpired between Wilfred Saint Leger and herself 


SAINT LEGER. 


341 


and also between her and Wilfred the younger. On one oc- 
casion, it was understood that she had plunged a dagger into 
the breast of the father, declaring he should die rather than 
disgrace his name ; and the wound came near proving fatal. 
On another, she threatened the son with a like vengeance, un- 
less he abandoned his iiTegular life. Wilfred the younger 
was the father of Leila Saint Leger, about whom I had in- 
quired, and of whom she could tell me nothing ; except that 
her father was dead, she living with a relative somewhere on 
the continent, and engaged to marry the Count de Vautrey, 
of whom she knew very little. When a small boy he had 
spent a few weeks at Bertold Castle, in company with one of 
her kinsmen, a Moncrieff; and that the child at that early age 
inspired every one with aversion, not to say hatred. She 
knew nothing of his residence. 

My vague associations connected with this man were not 
mere dreams after all, said I to myself, as I finished reading 
the letter. Strange that in my infancy he should have been 
for a season under the same roof with me, and that we should 
have met as we did ; and conjecture, with its shapeless, un- 
formed images began to fill my brain, and I was fast sinking 
into a mazy revery, when I remembered that my father’s let- 
ter remained unread. I took it up, and as it is short, will 
give it to the reader of these memoirs : 

“ My Pear Son : I consent to your proposed tour, and am 
satisfied, by what I learn from the good doctor, with your 
proficiency while at Leipsic. As you are now a man, and 
are henceforth to think and act for yourself, I have no wish 
to fetter or restrain you. I have no fear that you will forget 
your sense of accountability to Almighty God, or the claims 
of conscience ; for I have confidence in your principles, and 
in your uprightness of character. Enclosed you will find a 


342 


SAINT LEGEE. 


bill of exchange on for <£ — , and a letter of credit 

on the same house unlimited. Your mother writes by this 
post. 1 pray God’s blessing to rest upon you. 

“ From your affectionate father, 

Guy H. S. Saint Leger. 

“ P. S. — Trust no Frenchman — believe in no French wo- 
man. France has been a curse to our nation, and French- 
men and French women a curse to our family. 

“ G. H. S. St. L.” 


XXIV. 

If ever captive felt lightness of heart when his chains were 
struck off and he set at liberty, after breathing the noisome 
atmosphere of a dungeon ; if ever convalescent was cheered 
by the pleasant sunlight and the refreshing breeze, after the 
confinement of a long and dangerous sickness ; if ever mar- 
iner, tempest-tossed for months, hailed with transport the 
sight of the green earth : then did I feel lightness of heart, 
then was I cheered, transported, at the prospect of this change 
of life. How the blood went galloping through my veins ! I 
will pack to-day, and will set off to-morrow. Now for life ! 
Pleasure, I will grasp you yet ! Change, novelty, new 
scenes, new actions, freedom — ay, freedom! freedom for 
anything — by Heaven, I will shut out all but this purpose ! 
I will live a while without the interference of that surly 
weight that hangs like lead about my heart. Up and out into 
life 1 Already is my appetite sharpened for adventure ; al- 
ready a thousand tumultuous thoughts crowd upon me. 

Italy I I shall see thy soft skies ; I shall revel in thy classic 
groves, delightful T uscany ; I shall wander through thy ruins. 
Eternal City. Spain 1 how sweet the anticipation of thy 
beauties ! Already I see thy sunny plains and stately palm- 


SAINT LEGER. 


343 


groves, thy orange- walks, and thy delicious gardens. I hear 
the soft music of the evening guitar ; and now, the tinkling of 
the muleteer’s bell greets my ear. ’Tis evening ; the maidens 
of Andalusia are on the balconies, listening to the impassioned 
serenade. I come ! T will soon see this birth-place of passion 
— this home of love ! 

What if the heart become cold 1 — what if the cheek wrinkle 
and the eye grow dim ? Youth ! let me but enjoy youth ! 
Give me but the experience of joy, passion, love, jealousy, 
hate ; let me see beauty, and call it mine ; let me clutch what 
looks so glittering ; baubles they may be, but let me have them 
in my hand ! Let me see, and know, and feel, instead of tak- 
ing upon trust, what doth and what doth not perish with the 
using. Then approach, ye ministers of fate, and do your 
worst with me ! 


XXV. 

In the midst of a rhapsody which I attempt now to describe, 
the door opened gently, and Theresa Von Hofrath entered. 
The fever-current was calmed ; the exciting visions of pleasure 
dissolved apace ; only my heart continued to beat quickly as 
before, yet with a heavier pulsation. The letters lay before 
me ; I was gazing at them. Theresa came a few steps to- 
ward me and stopped. I advanced to meet her. 

I have letters from home at last.” 

“ And can you go ?” asked Theresa. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Oh, how happy I am to hear it ! Now all will be well. 
And you can go ?” 

“ Yes.” 

Theresa’s countenance actually lighted with happiness ; her 
whole manner changed she was almost enthusiastic in her 


344 


SAINT LEGER. 


hopes for me. It seemed as if I had never half appreciated 
her. A strange feeling oppressed me ; I came near bursting 
into tears. I never could account satisfactorily for the pe- 
culiar moods that at times come over us. There is a subtle 
spirit within, which acts unexpectedly upon the instant, baffling, 
and contradicting, and defying all form, all habit, all rule, and 
all philosophy ; a remnant of some brighter period of the soul, 
vindicating, by its potency, the hypothesis of a time anterior, 
when form, and habit, and rule, and philosophy, were unknown. 

While I stood oppressed by strange feelings, Theresa had 
left the room. 


XXVI. 

In two days I was ready to quit Leipsic. I was to go into 
the town in the evening, to be ready for the schnell-post, which 
was to start the next morning. The professor insisted on 
accompanying me to the hotel. 

Yes, everything was ready ; and, with my cloak across my 
arm, I turned to meet Theresa, who was coming to the door. 
I took her hand ; a cheerful “ Good-by !” passed my lips ; it 
was echoed by her. The professor had reached the carriage, 
and I hastened to join him. 

I did not look back to see Theresa again ! 


END OP BOOK FOURTH. 


BOOK V. 


IaT£t^ovra s' avT6ff)0f>T0v oiKcia aayr) 

’Ey '"A-pyos, waitEp Scvp’ dirc^vyrjv irdSui, 

'Ayvuis TTpos dyuCir’ eiire avp(ia\wv dviip 
'E^iaTop^cas Kal ffaftjvicraf bSov* 

^scHYLus, Choeph., 662 , 

* Occasions of my own called me to Argos. 

Onward as I travelled 

I met a man unknown, myself to him 
Unknown ; he courteous questioned me how far 
I journeyed, and informed me of my way. 


$£{)’ ra^era y' rjXde ^priapaiv npa^is 

'Zevi diriffKrjiptv T£\cvriiv d£(r<l>(ir<ov, 

iEscHYLus, Persse, 735, 

A^ith what a winged course the oracles 

Haste their completion ! With the lightning’s speed 

Jove on this man hath hurled his threatened vengeance. 




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BOOK FIFTH 


I. 

Daybreak throughout Germany is the hour for breakfast. 

At daybreak on the morning of the twelfth of May, 17 — , 
I was seated at the table of the Weiss-Schwan in Leipsic, in 
company with several persons who were on that morning 
to take the schnell-post for Dresden. 

What sent me to Dresden ? 

The hope of rescuing Leila Saint Leger from Laurent de 
Vautrey. 

How was I to effect this even if I could find her, which was 
doubtful enough ? 

I did not stop to answer the question. I determined to 
trust to the hour and to the circumstance. Full of new proj- 
ects and plans without number, I made a hasty breakfast, 
and rising from the table, paced up and down the hall while 
waiting the arrival of the ponderous vehicle which was to 
transport us to the capital of Saxony. 

Mine host, perceiving that I had done poor justice to the 
morning meal, insisted that I should strengthen myself with a 
glass of schnapps, which it would have been discourteous to 
refuse ; after which, and purely as a matter of self-defence, 
to prevent further interruption, T lighted my meerschaum and 
resumed my walk. ^ 


513 


SAINT LEGBR. 


At length a noise resembling the sound of distant thunder 
was heard, and shortly after, drawn by some ten or twelve 
crazy horses, the schnell-post came rumbling down the street. 

By means of kicks and screams and the free use of the 
whip, with the added force of sundry oaths made up of b. patois, 
which would have done credit to the dispersed builders of 
Babel, the bedlam-looking steeds were finally persuaded to 
stand still. 

I bade my host farewell, and distributing a few groschens 
among the civil attendants, mounted the ladder, meerschaum 
in hand, and after a short journey arrived safe — inside. 

Another set-to then commenced. The kicks and screams, 
and whip, and oaths, were plied with an impartial distribu- 
tion ; and presently at the rattling pace of four miles the hour 
we took leave of the “bookshelf” of Germany. 


II. 

And who were “ we,” who with one accord had sought a 
common destination on that morning ? 

At first, owing to the dense vapor of tobacco smoke, I was 
unable to satisfy myself on that point, but as we left the town, 
the air had a freer course through the windows, and I found 
opportunity to inspect my fellow-travellers. 

There were five besides myself inside ; how many were in 
front and rear and upon the fop I do not know ; but the in- 
side contained just six, including me. There could be no 
mistake about it, for I counted my companions several times. 

They were for the most part substantial looking Dutch- 
men, with staid appearance and civil demeanor. Your Ger- 
man is a humane and a polite man. He does not possess that 
busy politeness which under cover of a benevolent assiduity, 
scrutinizes your dress, even to the niost minute portion of it j 


V 


SAINT LEGER. 


349 


which pries into the very recesses of your pocket ; which 
values each article of your luggage, and puts a price even 
upon your own importance ; but on the contrary, his is that 
unostentatious, unobtrusive civility which permits every one 
to enjoy his own quiet after his own fashion, and busy him- 
self with his own reflections without interruption; which 
answers a proper question with candor, without following up 
the advantage by seeking to gratify an idle curiosity. 

Ill 

One — two — three — four. I stuck at the fifth man each 
time. Not that I made any mistake in the count; there 
were five beside myself ; but this fifth personage baffled all 
my conjectures as to his nation, kindred, language, or occu- 
pation. The four were Dutch ; I was sure enough of that. 
Not that they were just alike, for one might have been a pro- 
fessor, another a dealer in laces, the third a manufacturer of 
porcelain, the fourth a stadtholder, but all Germans, not 
a doubt of it. 

This fifth man, he was my vis-a-vis, how could I help look- 
ing at him 1 

Presently he dropped asleep; then I looked at him the 
more steadily. In the first place it was quite impossible for 
me to conjecture his age. One could make him appear al- 
most any number of years old from twenty up to forty-five. 
The marks with which anxieties or disappointments or press- 
ing cares encircle the face, the forehead, the eyes, the mouth, 
could be distinctly traced on the countenance of the sleeper 
— strange that such heartache characters should be in circles, 
instead of sharp angles and straight lines — but then the 
mouth even in slumber seemed to set these lines at defiance. 

It was an honest mouth, from each corner round to the em* 


350 


SAINT LEGER. 


houchure; but for all that the lips were compressed; whether 
in the self-relying honesty of a pure heart, or in stern resolu- 
tion, or in bitter endurance, I could not determine. The 
character of the face told forty-five ; a something distinct 
from that, partaking of innocence and simplicity, said twenty. 
But little could be seen of the forehead, for an immense 
quantity of tangled light hair inclining to red, was shook over 
it in most uncouth disorder. The nose was large and 
ugly ; the face was well enough, if it had not been for the 
nose, but the mouth redeemed the whole. I had not as yet a 
chance at the eyes. 

As to his dress, it was somewhere between a gentleman’s 
and that of a gentleman’s valet. It was nearly threadbare : 
that belonged not to the gentleman ; it was in slovenly order : 
that partook not of the valet. In cut and fashion it resembled 
the costume of no one country in particular, but appeared to 
be a sort of medley, made up for the sake of a compromise, 
of the fashions of a dozen different nations. 

After glancing over the dress, I went back to the face again. 

With what different feelings do we regard a person sleep- 
ing and the same person awake ! The defenceless character 
of the situation disarms us of that depreciating spirit with 
which we are apt to scrutinize the unknown and the stranger. 


IV. 

As the schnell-post descended a steep hill a few miles out 
of Leipsic, it dashed across a small bridge with such a tre- 
mendous jolt that my neighbor opposite was startled from his 
slumber. He hastily replaced the cap upon his head, which 
had some time before fallen off, and as he did so, caught my 
eye ; I suppose there was something in it which provoked 


SAINT LEGER. 


351 

speech, for, although not quite awake, he muttered, in a low 
voice : 

“3c() iiter bem grogen Sdrmcn aufgewac^t. 3c() 
vergangeiic Sfvadjt ntc^t gut gefd^Iafen.’* 

And then, as if suddenly attracted by the beauty of the 
morning, he thrust his head out of the window, took a glance 
up and down, snuffed in the fresh air, looked half angrily to- 
ward the smokers (I had laid aside the meerschaum), then out 
of the window again, then once more at me. 

“ I believe I am awake now,” he continued, in German. 

“It is a fine morning,” said I. 

“Too fine to be shut up in this filthy place. At the bottom 
of the next hill let’s have a run ; what say you 1” 

“ With all my heart.” 

And so, on coming to a hill, we got out and proceeded on 
foot in advance of our conveyance. We ran on for some time 
in silence, until we had gained considerably on the schnell- 
post, when we stopped on a small mound by the roadside, to 
take breath. My companion turned and surveyed me with 
an amusing scrutiny. I say amusing, for shrewdness and 
simplicity were so mingled in the expression of his face, that 
one knew not what to make of it. I now got sight of his 
eyes : they were of light-gray, not large, yet expressive of 
humor, pathos, deep feeling, and, as I have said, shrewdness 
and simplicity. At length he commenced, as follows ; 

“ Ne venez vous pas de France ?” 

“ Je viens de Leipsic.” 

“ Mais od allez vous si vite ?” 

“ En Dresden, comme vous voyez.” 

He looked around and gazed at the prospect^ taking off 
his cap, he ran his fingers through his hair, shook his head, 
took two or three long breaths, as if to drink in the air, and 
then exclaimed : 


352 


SAINT LEGER. 


“ Cuan puro y saludable es el aire del campo V* 

En el campo,” continued I, “ es donde se disfruta la ver- 
dadera libertad ; yo me ahogo, encerrado en el interior del 
pueblo.” 

My new acquaintance turned again to survey the landscape, 
and his eye happening to fall upon a quaint-looking old build- 
ing, not far from the roadside, he attacked me with the fol- 
lowing : 

“ Questa casa e fabbricata a modo di castello.” 

To which I replied : “ Oltre modo. Di grazia non mi 
romper la testa.” 

The other looked full in my face, and, with an easy, pleas- 
ant smile, exclaimed, in pure English : 

“ When did you leave home V’ 

“ Longer ago than I care to remember.” 

“ You are English !” 

“ And you are — ” 

“ A scape-grace whom any country would be ashamed to 
own,” interrupted the other, good-humoredly. 

“ And what do you mean by a scape-grace ?” 

“ Me!” 

“ That is talking in a circle.” 

“ No. You have only to get acquainted with me to know 
the meaning of both terms.” 

“ How do you make that appear 

“Wait till we are acquainted, and it will appear as plain 
as the hill of Howth.” 

“ I have caught you — Irish?” 

“ And my name is Robert Macklorne.” 

“ Mine is William Henry Saint Leger. 

“ William Henry Saint Leger, let us abandon that cursed 
vehicle and go to Dresden on foot ; but stay, we shall know 
each other in a few hour? ; we come for the noon-meal 


SAINT LEGER, 


353 


CJDiittag effeir) to the toll-gate. The keeper has a handsome 
rosy-cheeked daughter, with flaxen hair and light blue eyes. 
1 say it in all innocence ; we will make a halt at the toll- 
house ; your luggage shall go on to your hotel at Dresden; 
for myself, I am not encumbered with the article ; but see, 
they are making signs to us (for while we were talking, 
the schnell-post had gone quietly along, and had now reached 
the top of the hill ;) “let us run and off we sprang for a 
race up the ascent. We stopped a moment at a small hut on 
the summit, and obtained a draught of sour wine ; then mounted 
to the inside^ and the schnell-post rolled on. 

It was a grateful exercise, that of talking in my native 
tongue to one equally familiar with it. While at Leipsic I 
do not remember to have conversed in English with one of 
my countrymen. And what little of the language I did occa- 
sionally speak, was entirely out of the conversational way. 


V. 

I WAS not long in forming an opinion of my Irish friend. 
Possessing by nature an extreme impatience of everything 
like restraint, he had indulged his love of license until it be 
came a sort of vagabondism. His story was told in a few words. 
He was a younger son ; his family of limited means ; and, consid- 
ered a precocious youth, he was sent to Trinity college, which, 
the discipline proving irksome, he abandoned in a couple 
of years, resolved to see the world, after the fashion of 
poor Goldsmith. He accordingly set out, with ten pounds in 
his pocket — all he could induce his friends to trust him 
with — and, stimulated by an inordinate desire for novelty, 
and aided by a surprising facility in acquiring languages, he 
went from country to country, enjoying with a natural ingen- 
uousness, not to say childishness of heart, every new scene, 
23 


354 


SAINT LEGER. 


and entering into the sports and pleasures with which the 
moment chanced to surround him. In this way he had re- 
peatedly traversed every nation of Europe, selecting ordin- 
arily the most unfrequented routes, and visiting the most se- 
cluded and out of the way places. 

Macklorne was a solitary being. He had both friends and 
relations, but he was nevertheless emphatically alone in the 
world. Did he nurse an affected wretchedness? did he de- 
plore the unlucky fate which had sent him forth with a keen 
relish for novelty and change, with an exquisite taste, a deli- 
cate ear, and a nice appreciation of the beautiful in nature 
and in art, and yet had withheld the means of enjoying these? 
Not a jot. He set his fate at defiance ; not by gloomily fold- 
ing his arms, contracting his brow and feeding upon dark 
fancies ; not by turning misanthrope and sneering at humani- 
ty ; but by a resolute, good-humored and persevering indiffer- 
ence to everything conceijning himself, which after all is often 
the token of a superior will. There was something in his sin- 
gleness of heart that stood in the place of the shrewdest pen- 
etration ; one could not be a half hour in his company with- 
out feeling it, and there was that about his society that made 
you think better of yourself and more kindly of all the 
world. 


VI. 

The half way house between Leipsic and Dresden is 
nearly thirty miles from either place, and just one half of the 
day was employed in reaching it. Long before we came to 
it, however, I had determined to adopt the suggestion of 
Macklorne and turn pedestrian for the rest of the distance. I 
was moved to this by several reasons. In the first place I 
was delighted with my companion : what a contrast with the 


SAINT LEGER. 


355 


^aracters I had left behind me ! I was charmed, too, with 
the idea of taking to the road in the very extreme of liberty and 
license ; and I believed Macklorne, who was familiar with 
Dresden, might aid me in the object of my journey thither. 


VII. 

A SUDDEN turn in the road, just as the traveller begins to 
fear that he has been misinformed as to the proximity of the 
half way house, discovers, close at hand, the house itself. At 
this point the postillion invariably gets up another agitation 
among his cattle, preparatory, and indeed essential to the ex- 
citement of bringing them to a halt. At five minutes before 
twelve we were safely deposited on the north side of the toll- 
gate. In five minutes more we were summoned to dinner. 
My new friend was recognised by the host as an old acquaint- 
ance ; and the flaxen-haired, blue-eryed Catharine readily pre- 
sented either cheek for his salutation. I was then brought 
forward, and should have been allowed a similar favor, so 
current was an introduction fii'om Macklorne, had I cared to 
avail myself of it. I do not know how it is, but a kiss has 
always seemed to me a sacred seal of a sacred feeling, and 
I have looked upon the custom of extending it indiscriminate- 
ly with repugnance. But Catharine had no time to listen to any 
such philosophical apology, for the guests were now nearly all 
seated, and she was the only attendant. 1 have ever since 
remembered that simple-hearted maid with a kindly feeling. 
She seemed to find her recompense in suiting all. With a 
pleased alacrity she anticipated every wish before it was ex- 
pressed ; and the smile of satisfaction, * when she had pro- 
cured for you whatever you desired, came from her heart. 

The dinner was plain but neat. We were hungry, and the 
leberwurst, the kartoffel-salat, and good home-brewed dJe, 


i56 


SAINT LEGER. 


served literally to gladden our spirits. Dinner over, the pas- 
sengers lighted their pipes, the schnell-post rattled to the door, 
and with a sympathizing German guttural, giving token of a 
general inward satisfaction, the party set off again. 


VIII. 

A.S I Stood with Macklorne watching the retiring vehicle, I 
felt for the first time in years an absolute and unbounded 
sense of freedom. Presently we strolled out to take a view 
of the scenery. I was struck with its beauty. The turnpike 
wound through a delightful valley, and at this spot the ground 
upon our left rose gradually higher and higher, until it reach- 
ed a considerable elevation. The hill, to the very summit, 
was cut into terraces, and laid out in luxuriant vineyards. To 
the right the country was undulating, and covered wdth im- 
mense grain-fields. The whole had the appearance of an ex- 
tended garden. Indeed, it was a sight rarely to be met with, 
even in the most cultivated regions. Doubtless it had re- 
quired years of toil, from the rising to the setting of the sun, 
to elaborate such an exquisite picture of human industry. 

We strolled through the vineyards up the ascent. Thence 
we could see several red-roofed cottages scattered around, 
and here and there we encountered a Saxon peasant at his 
labor. His coarse but well-mended garments spoke in praise 
of the “ gute frau,” while his honest look, and quiet eye, in 
which beamed no restless light of education, exhibited an en- 
tire contentment with his lot of ceaseless plodding. 

At a distance, surrounded by a dense wood, I thought I 
could perceive the walls of some grander edifice than was 
about us. I pointed it out to Macklorne, and asked him what 
it was. 

“ That is the castle of the graf. He is the owner of tho 


SAINT LEGER. 


357 


Burrounding domain, and to him each cottager makes his re- 
turns.” He continued, cheerfully, ‘ Unto every one that 
hath shall be given:’ but let me tell you, of all the souls that 
inhabit the gi-afschaft, he is the most unhappy. I know 
these poor peasants ; there is scarcely a red-roofed cot with- 
in our view which has not, at one time or another, afforded 
me shelter; and I know the graf too; I saved his life — at 
least he says so — when lingering under a malignant fever. 
The peasant is happy — the graf is miserable; from him is 
* taken away even that which he hath.’ It is an excellent 
rule, it works both ways.” 

My companion went off upon some other topic, but I was 
impressed with the reflection, that even in this life the favors 
of Providence are dispensed with a more even hand than 
man is disposed to admit. I had received a lesson from one 
who was drifting, a solitary waif, upon the world. How cheer- 
ful he was, how trustful, how ready to vindicate, how slow 
to complain. I began to love this Robert Macklorne. 

IX. 

We descended slowly toward the inn. Arriving there, 
we found a carriage before the door, with outriders and ser- 
vants in livery in attendance. The new-comers were two 
ladies. They had alighted, and, as Macklorne ascertained, 
proceeded at once to a private apartment. Feeling no curiosity 
on the subject, I inquired of Catharine what room I was to 
have, thinking to rest a while before starting upon a short ex- 
cursion, which my companion had proposed. 

“We have given to madame and the fraulein the room 
of Herr Saint Leger,” said Catharine, modestly ; “ it is but 
for an hour. It was our best chamber. Will the gentlemen 
step into the next one for a little while ?” 


358 


SAINT LEGER. 


I willingly assented, and passed up the staircase to the 
apartment pointed out by the pretty hostess. The room oc- 
cupied by “ madame and the fraulein” was at the head of 
the wide staircase which I was to ascend. The door of the 
room was open ; I mechanically glanced into it while passing, 
and -^beheld, standing in an attitude of expectation — Leila 
Saint Leger ! Her face was turned toward the door, and 
she looked earnestly at me as I walked by, but gave not 
the slightest sign of recognition. Almost unconsciously I 
went directly past, and entered my temporary quarters. 
Here was a new dilemma. The door of my chamber was 
partly open, and led into the one occupied by Leila. I did 
not know what to do. At first I wondered why she at such 
a time should slight me ; but then I reflected that five years 
had wrought a great change upon my person. My frame 
was developed, and T was larger and stouter every way. 
My hair, instead of being short, in the English style, was worn 
after the manner of a German student and a respectable 
beard with mustaches, covered the chin and lips, where 
nothing was perceptible on the boy of sixteen. 


X. 

And William Henry Saint Leger, do you recognise your 
self? Where is the earnest, believing youth, who, child 
like, prayed as his mother taught him, and who, though un 

happy, and ill at ease, believed in Christ h 

It was a momentary pang ; it passed suddenly away. 


SAINT LEGER. 


%^9 


XI. 

I CEASED t ) reproach my cousin for the imaginai'y wrong, 
and sitting down at a little window which overlooked the 
road, busied myself with watching all that was going on about 
the house. Leila paced up and down her chamber with an 
agitated step. 

“ Strange that he does not come,” said she to her com- 
panion, whom I had not seen. 

“ My child,” said the other, in a calm voice, “ it is not yet 
time. You mistake the hour. Have patience.” 

“ Patience — patience — have I not had patience^ must I 
not have patience from this time henceforth ] Do not chide 
me ; think of my fate ; think of this meeting, which I have 
nerved myself to bear, and oh! — think of Henry! Pa- 
tience !” 

At this moment the sound of horse’s hoofs struck my ear, 
and looking out, I saw a horseman galloping down the road. 
He never slackened his speed till he came close to the door 
of the inn, when he brought his horse to a stop so suddenly, 
that it threw the animal back upon his haunches. He flung 
himself off, and at the sign from one of the liveried servants, 
ran hastily up the staircase.' I had but a moment’s sight of 
him. He was tall, well formed, with light hair, and an agree- 
able countenance. 1 had no time for a close scrutiny. The 
new comer dashed up the stairs, and into the chamber, and 
folded Leila in his arms. I could hear sobs and stifled groans, 
and then a kind voice in expostulation ; it was the voice of 
the stranger lady, but it availed not — at least she appeared 
to think so — for in a moment or two she rose, went out, and 


360 


SAINT LKGER. 


left the lovers together. I do not think a word was spoken 
for a quarter of an hour. The signs of deep and painful 
emotion continued the whole time, and I began to find my 
situation awkward enough. I could not shut the door, for it 
opened into the room they occupied ; I would not go out, 
because I wished to — stay in : so I kept my seat by the 
window. 

^‘Oh, Leila!” — “Oh, Henry!” were the first uttered 
words. 

“ Great God ! am I in my senses ? Leila ! for Heaven’s 
sake speak, and tell me that I am dreaming ! Is this the 
meeting at the trysting-place ? On such a day you would 
return ; on such a day we should meet here. Heaven ! what 
has bereft^ me ! The day has come ; this is the place and 
here are we ; you and I, are both here. Am I not with you, 
Leila? — do I not cla,sp this hand as I was wont? — does not 
my deep heart beat as always for you ? And my angel ! are 
you not here, and ” 

He spoke to dull ears. Leila Saint Leger had swooned in 
his arms. 

Quick as thought he sprang to the table for some water, 
and sprinkling a quantity upon her face, she opened her eyes, 
and exclaimed faintly : “ Henry, have you left me ?” 

“I am here, dearest; I will never leave you — never, 
never — I swear that I will never be separated from you?” 

“ It is too late. I must keep my oath ! I promised to 
meet you here, and I have fulfilled my promise, though I 
sink under it. But I do not hink of that ; I have confidence 
in ray strength to suffer.’^ 

“ Do you remember our last meeting, Leila ?” 

“ Oh, Henry, do not, do not speak of what has been ! I 
can not recall the past. It is only for what is to come that I 
have nerved myself.” 


SAINT LEGER. 


361 


“ And are you resolved V* 

“ Immoveably ! Henry, we suffer — together. I shall love 
you always, but we meet no more on this earth. If you al- 
ways love me, then, in eternity we shall be blest. I have 
vowed that I will wed the Count de Vautrey ; nothing more ; 
I shall never be his wife.” 

The conversation, which was continued half an hour, I can 
not trust myself to detail. It completely unmanned me. At 
length Leila’s companion entered the room and announced 
that it was time to return to Dresden. 

How my heart ached for them ! It seemed as if I might 
do something ; I stepped forward, and entered the apartment. 
“ So, Leila Saint Leger, you do not notice your kinsman, who 
is travelling the world over after you !” 

She turned upon me a look full of wonder and terror. “ It 
is my own cousin William !” she suddenly exclaimed, as she 
clasped her arms about me ; “ here is another sorrow.” 

I threw one arm around Leila ; the other I extended to her 
lover. He pressed my hand in silence. We understood each 
other. 

“We must go, my child,” said the lady ; and Leila rose to 
leave the room. The young man approached slowly, and, 
bending over her, imprinted a kiss upon her brow. He then 
turned and walked in silence to the window. I saw that his 
eyes were almost blinded with tears, but he did not speak. 
I assisted Leila to the carriage ; her companion stepped in, 
and, accompanied by the servants and outriders, it rolled 
away. 

I returned to the chamber. Leila’s friend stood where I 
had left him, gazing with a vacant eye into the distance. I 
approached and laid my hand upon his shoulder. He started, 
looked at me wistfully, shook his head, and turned again to 
the window. 


362 


SAINT LEGER. 


“ This will never do,” I said, in as cheerful a tone as I could 
command. “ I want to serve my cousin Leila. In serving 
her I find that I serve you.” 

I understand you, but she is unshaken in her resolution. 
No persuasion can influence her.” 

A common interest makes a speedy friendship. We sat 
down together, and I learned the history of the love affair. 

XII. 

Heinrich Wallenroth was the son of one of the most dis- 
tinguished nobles of Prussia, and resided at Berlin. Many 
years before, he had met Leila at the house of Madame de 
Marschelin, a noble lady of Dresden, related by mamage to 
the De Soisson family. Her husband had been long deceas- 
ed, and Leila Saint Leger had lived with her from childhood, 
except when the father required her presence at St. Kilda. 
The connection on both sides was unobjectionable, and Ma- 
dame de Marschelin did not consider that she was exceeding 
her trust to favor it, especially as the young girl would re- 
quire, in the event of her father’s death, a more efficient pro- 
tector. The lovers had plighted their troth, and the years 
ran happily along, when Leila was summoned away. What 
followed I was already acquainted with, from her letter. She 
had but lately arrived in Dresden, and, strange as it was, I 
was witness to the first interview between the two. I in- 
quired when she was to wed the count. 

“ The day after the morrow,” said Heinrich, despairingly. 

“ Something must be done instantly.” I exclaimed, “ and 
what is done must be done with Vautrey.” 

“ Think you that has not occurred to me I” said Heinrich ; 

but he is not to be found. I have searched Dresden through 
and through for him. By the Power that rules above us, 


SAINT LEGER. 


363 


could I meet him, (understand me, he should have an even 
field,) the question should be to the death !” 

“ You would probably be the victim. It is the way of such 
things. The villain is usually successful. And then, what 
would become of Leila 

“What shall we do!” exclaimed Heinrich, impatiently. 

“Would not Vau trey waive his privilege, provided Leila 
would relinquish to him a portion of her large inheritance — 
or the whole, if a part should not satisfy him 

“ I do not believe it. Still, it is worth the trial. But, even 
if he can be found, who will propose this ?” 

“ I will, much as I dislike the office. You go to Dresden 
to-night 

“Yes; without delay.” 

“ I shall stay here. I will be in town by ten o’clock to- 
morrow morning. Where shall I see you 

“ I am at the Stadt-Priissien.” 

“ It is where I am to lodge myself My luggage has al- 
ready gone forward. In the meantime, find Vautrey, if pos- 
sible.” 

“ I begin to have a little hope. Adieu.” 

The next moment Wallenroth was galloping madly toward 
the city. 

XIII. 

I DESCENDED into the public room, and found Macklorne 
just rising from a game of chess with the host. He had been 
so much occupied with the pl^-y that he had not noticed my 
long absence. On the contrary, he apologized for letting the 
time run by until it was too late for our intended excursion, 
but proposed a short walk instead. 

We sallied out, and taking an opposite direction from our 
previous stroll, were soon in the midst of new beauties. 


364 


SAINT LEGER. 


I felt mysteriously drav\m toward my new acquaintance, 
and resolved, if possible, to retain him in my company. I 
therefore narrated to him what had passed at the inn ; giving, 
at the same time, enough of the history of Leila Saint Leger 
to interest him in our plans. 

“ Now, my dear friend,” continued I, — “ for friend of mine 
I am determined you shall be — help us by your counsel. In 
the first place, I must be in Dresden by ten o’clock to-mor- 
row. It is nearly thirty miles. In England it would be but 
a pleasant ride or drive before breakfast ; here, in this delib- 
erate land, it is an affair of half a day.” 

“ Leave me to manage that,” cried Macklorne, who enter- 
ed into the enterprise with the glee of a school-boy. “ Leave 
me to manage that. The honest herr has a very decent ‘ fuhr- 
werk;’ and although his horse is a quadruped of the last 
century, yet Catharine has a fine young ‘ klepper,’ which I 
know she will allow me to drive to Dresden ; at any rate, I 
will try for it ; and if the worst come to worst, we will set 
out to-night and walk the distance in seven hours. There 
now ! I will stay by you, my true heart, till the close of the 
play, and as much longer as you choose.” 

I took the hand which Macklorne in the warmth of the mo- 
ment extended, and acknowledged my sense of his kindness 
by a cordial pressure. So strongly reinforced as I had been 
since the morning, I began to take courage. 

XIV. 

It was near sunset, and we turned toward the inn. The 
declining glories of the day gave a softened aspect to the 
landscape, and lent a new charm to what seemed perfect be- 
fore. 

As we approached the house I turned to take another look 


SAINT LEGER. 


365 


at the prospect we bad left. I beheld two horsemen coming 
at a slow p?ce down the road. Presently they overtook and 
passed us. The foremost was — Laurent deVautrey; the 
other was the same sinister-looking wretch who was his at- 
tendant at Glencoe. Both master and man were soiled and 
travel-worn. The count had not altered as much as one 
would suppose, considering the lapse of years. His hair, 
long and black, hung as it was wont, and his countenance ex- 
hibited the same expression of secure indifference, coupled 
with that air of careless, quiet assurance, so generally ac- 
quired by a certain stamp of men of the world. 

But without discussing his character farther — fiend, brute, 
devil or what not — there he was. With the servant the 
world had evidently gone harder. His appearance, though 
quite as sinister as ever, was considerably subdued ; he was 
thinner and had a more hang-knave air. Perhaps he was in 
disgrace that morning and was trying to look contrite. 

As they came up with us, Vautrey cast a searching glance, 
not at me, but at Macklorne. The latter returned it with an 
air of defiance. At the moment of passing, Vautrey muttered 
to him “ Beware !” 

“ It is for you to beware. Sir Chevalier,” returned Mack- 
lorne. “ I am upon your track again.” 

A grim look of hatred was the only return, and the horse- 
men passed on. 

“ Do you know that man 1” said I. 

“ Yes, it is the Chevalier Montbeliard, the most abandoned, 
the most unprincipled, the most unscrupulous roue in all Eu- 
rope. He hates me because I rescued a simple-hearted girl 
from his clutches before he had accomplished his object : it is 
a long story, at another time you shall hear it.” 

“ Macklorne, that is Count Vautrey, the affianced of my 
cousin Leila Saint Leger.” 


366 


SAINT LEGER. 


“Now may God forefend !” exclaimed my companion: 
“ Go, cut him down ; kill, murder, assassinate — perish your- 
self, perish all of us — but arrest that awful doom for the in- 
nocent ! Not a moment should be lost ; away, let us ” 

Just then something pulled Macklorne sharply by the 
sleeve. We both turned, and I saw an object the most hide- 
ous and repulsive I had ever set eyes upon. The creature — 
I can scarcely call it human — was in the last stages of desti- 
tution. His body was covered with rags; his hair had ap- 
parently been unshorn for years, and hung in matted locks 
upon his shoulders, mingling with his grizzly beard; his head 
rested upon his breast ; his frame was absolutely bare of flesh, 
and the nails upon his fingers had grown to be like bird’s 
claws. 

“So, so, my poor fellow, we have met again!” said my 
friend, soothingly, to the being who had thus suddenly and si- 
lently stolen upon us. “ You look famished. Deutschland 
does not agree with you. I wish I could spare you enough 
to make you comfortable ; here — it is the best I can do ;” and 
he drew out a few groschens fiom his pocket. 

“ Let me see if I can not do something,” said I. At the 
sound of my voice the object raised his head ; I was relieved 
to find that he could raise it ; and peered at me with the 
smallest, keenest, most intensely infernal fiery-black eyes I 
ever encountered. And yet, all this may have been the effect 
of misery and want. 

No sooner had he set those eyes on me, than he uttered a 
cry and extended his hand eagerly to receive the promised 
alms. I drew out my purse and extracted some silver. But 
he shook his head impatiently and pointed to the road, as if in 
haste to get on. I gave my purse another turn, and a guinea 
and two thaler pieces rolled out. The wretch clutched them 
as if with desperation, and springing past me rapidly, made 


SAINT LEGER. 


367 


a wild gesture to Macklorne, and setting into a sort of trot, 
was soon out of sight. 

“ How our friends accumulate,” said Macklorne. “ Do 
not look so surprised. In this section, transformed and 
deformed and devil-formed creatures are common enough. 
The devil-formed on horseback and the wretch on foot. 
I have a story to tell you about this too ; but not now. 
I must go and provide for our morning’s conveyance ; we 
must set oft’ by five o’clock. 


XV. 

There are certain periods when events seem to hasten to 
their consummation. — I say seem to hasten, for though it is 
but short work to reap the field and get in the harvest, yet 
how slowly did the seed germinate, the leaves sprout, the 
blossoms put forth, and the fruit mature. The consummation 
is sudden nevertheless. — And at such periods how rapidly 
the scenes change, how swiftly one after another the actors 
glide across the stage ; how strangely circumstances tend to 
concentrate everything upon some one hazard ; aud how ir- 
resistible is the force which concentrates ! 


XVI. 

The toll-gate that day had been the neutral ground. What 
a singular grouping — had the several characters chanced to- 
gether. But they were not thus to meet. Another act of 
the drama remained. A last scene in which all these should 
assemble: the kind-hearted but complacent matron — Leila 
and her lover — Vautrey ana the beggar — Macklorne and I. 


368 


SAINT LEGER- 


XVII. 

“ All ready for a start/’ was the summons, twice repeat- 
ed, in the clear cheerful voice of Macklome, which awakened 
me from a refreshing sleep, but a few minutes, apparently, 
after I had fallen into it. I sprang up, and for a moment was 
lost in that bewildering unconsciousness of time, and circum- 
stance, which often attends the slumberer when suddenly rous- 
ed in a strange place. I looked around the room; the curtains 
were drawn across the windows, so that it was quite dark ; I 
put forth my hand to grasp the nearest object ; I strained my 
eyes to discern a familiar one. “ Sleeper — sleeper — almost 
five o’clock — a hot cup of coftee ready, and no time to be 
lost — come, come !” brought me to my senses and out of the 
bed at the same instant. 

“ I will be with you in five minutes,” cried I. 

“ You shall have ten,” replied Macklorne, good-humoredly, 
as he made his way down the stairs. I stepped to the win- 
dow, and, drawing aside the curtains, threw it open and looked 
out. The air was cool and fragrant ; the dawn was percep- 
tible by a few faint lines which streaked over the east ; every- 
thing was still, except that there were occasional signs of re- 
turning animation among the inhabitants of the poultry-yard, 
while the bark of a dog, from a distant cottage, was answered 
at intervals by the mastiff of mine host. 

At the door of the inn stood the “fuhrwerk,” before which 
was harnessed the smart “keppel” of the kind-hearted Cath- 
arine. 


SAINT LEGBR. 


369 


XVIII. 

I DRESSED myself quickly, and hastened down to the public 
room, where the table was already laid for us, with boiled 
eggs, rolls, and fresh butter. I found my companion in as 
cheerful a humor as ever, enjoying, with great zest, the idea 
of our morning’s expedition. In two or three minutes Cath- 
arine herself entered with the coffee, her natural German 
quietness entirely forsaking her, under the excitement of this 
novel enterprise. We soon despatched the morning meal; 
and, after parting salutations with the young hostess, we drove 
off. 

I found that Macklorne had perfected all his arrangements, 
for in the bottom of the wagon nestled an urchin, who was to 
take the conveyance back from Dresden. 


XIX. 

We went on for a little while without a word being spoken. 
At length Macklorne broke the silence: “What is your 
plan]” 

“ I have matured none,” said I. “ I am to meet Heinrich 
Wallenroth at the Stadt-Priissien as soon as we get to town; 
in the meantime, I would advise with you.” 

“ Well, then,” he said, in a half playful, half serious tone, 
“let us resolve, in the first place, that Montbeliard, or Vau- 
trey, as you name him, shall not marry your cousin ; and, 
secondly, let us discuss the various means to be adopted to 
carry out the resolution.” Suddenly changing his tone, he 
continued : “ I know this Vautrey ; he is the only human be- 
24 


370 


SAINT LEGER. 


ing toward whom I have a settled and unalterable feeling of 
abhorrence. It would be a charity to plunge a dagger into 
your cousin’s heart, rather than give her up to him.” 

^ But if Leila is determined, in consequence of ” 

“ I care not for that,” interrupted Macklorne. “ She must 
oe forcibly prevented ; then she can not reproach herself.” 

“ How shall we find Vautrey ?” 

“ I will find him in two hours after we get to Dresden,” 
returned my friend. 

“ And what after he is found ]” 

“ I should be tempted to destroy him,” said Macklorne, 
“ but that must not be. Let us see what you can effect with 
your cousin ; after that we will turn to the count. And re- 
member, I hold myself bound to you, as knight or squire, as 
principal or second, against one or against a thousand, in 
single fight or in the melee, rescue or no rescue, unto the 
death.” 

The conversation was carried on with animation, and with 
that peculiar confidence produced by congenial feelings, and 
a unity of purpose. 


XX. 

In this way we drove along ; the road was familiar to my 
companion, who often turned aside into pleasant lanes and by- 
paths, in order to shorten the distance. At first, the inhabi- 
tants of the cottages were just rising as we passed; after a 
while, we witnessed, through the windows, active preparations 
for breakfast ; farther on, they were partaking of the meal, 
and soon were seen commencing upon the labors of the day. 

A few minutes before ten we reached Dresden. We stop- 
ped at a small inn before we came to the better part of the 
town. Leaving the lad to procure refreshment for himself and 


SAINI LEQER. 


371 


horse, and return to the halfway house, we walked on to- 
gether a short distance, when Macklorne, after giving me 
general directions by which I could find the Stadt-Priissien, 
and, promising to be with me in two hours, crossed over, 
turned down a narrow street and d isappeared. 

XXI. 

I PROCEEDED to make my way to the hotel, which I reached 
after a walk of half a mile, having once or twice missed the 
direct course. Wollenroth was standing on the steps, anx- 
iously gazing at each person who passed. He greeted me as 
if we had been friends from childhood ; but dejection and 
despair were in his look. 

She will not see me,” he said ; My friend, what can be 
done] From this day, life has no charm — death no terror. 
Do not desert me ; I put myself in your hands ; only act — 
act, for Heaven’s sake.” 

We went into a private room, and sat down together ; he 
became more composed, and informed me that Leila feared 
another meeting would be more than she could bear, that he 
had taken neither food nor rest since he left me, but had 
walked up and down the streets the whole night, and only 
came to the hotel to meet his appointment. 


XXII. 

For a few moments I felt altogether at a loss. Heinrich 
seemed to depend entirely upon me, and I found myself, as it 
were unconsciously, falling back upon Macklorne. I began to 
think over the whole affair with seriousness. I tried to sur- 
vey it in a practical, matter-of-fact way. How should I act? 
^yhat poqld I do ? How far ought I to interfere % Leila 


372 


BAINT LEGER. 


was the betrothed of Vautrey by the solemn appointment of a 
dying father, and who could tell what might depend upon the 
fulfilment of the troth 1 On the other side, the conviction that 
it was obtained by fraud ; the absolute abhorrence of Leila to 
the count, and her repugnance to the union ; the complete sacri- 
fice it would effect of two young spirits, made me consider 
almost any course justifiable to relieve them. I thought of 
the interview I had witnessed between Leila and Vautrey in 
St. Kilda ; of the scorn with which she then dismissed him 
from her presence ; of his threat, and of her proud defiance. 
A chill ran through me as I contemplated the end. My visit 
to St. Kilda, my interviews with Leila, our relationship, her 
apparent fate, crowded tumultuously upon me. Must one so 
young, so fair, so noble, be destroyed without an effort in her 
behalf? What if she conscientiously insists on keeping the 
promise to her father — shall those not bound tamely witness 
the sacrifice ? I was roused also to attempt something, by the 
resolute tone of Macklome. The careless, cheerful, but hon- 
est and clear-sighted wanderer, on this occasion threw aside 
his humor, gayety, and indifference, for an unconquerable re- 
solve. But I was a stranger in Dresden ; I knew no one in 
the town save Wallenroth, who did not himself reside there ; 
and so had to ask again : “ What can we do ?” 

Wallenroth was really incapable of advising. The blow 
had fallen so suddenly that he was stunned. I repeated some 
word} of comfort, but they seemed tame and commonplace. 
I assured him I would devote myself to the cause of Leila, 
but felt that my efforts were insignificant, I tried to cheer 
him, but only became myself the more dejected. At length 
I entreated him to seek repose. This he refused, until I sug- 
gested that he would need all his strength to carry out the 
plan we were to consummate, when he took somo refresh* 
njent aqd attempted to sleep. 


SAINT LEQER. 


373 


XXVIII. 

I HAD sometime to wait before I should meet Macklome, 
but I could not occupy it. 

I had anticipated pleasure on entering the brilliant capital 
of Saxony. Here was a check to every feeling like enjoy- 
ment. How different my thoughts from those I indulged in 
but the day previous, when, enchanted with the idea of throw- 
ing myself upon the world, I set out from Leipsic, and 
climbed with Macklorne the vine-clad hills with an unbound- 
ed sense of freedom in the prospect. My life-motto came to 
my mind : 

Sed mihi res, non me rebus, submittere conor. 

“ I will not yield to the circumstance,” I exclaimed, aloud; 
“ it may effect my course of action, but myself — never. 
Courage ! our cause is a good one.” Before the time ex- 
pired for Macklorne's appearance I had regained my equa- 
nimity, and was ready to act with resolution. 

XXIX. 

My friend had been as good as his word. He had 
discovered where Vautrey lodged, but evaded my inquiry 
when I asked how he had done so. I told him briefly what 
had passed between Wollenroth and myself, and we concluded, 
as the only alternative, that I should visit the count, without 
delay, for we could decide on nothing until we knew the 
position he would assume. 


374 


SAINT LEGER. 


xxx. 

I DIRECTED my steps to No. — in the Konig Strasse. 
My last interview with Vautrey had been when interested for 
the safety of Glenfinglas, I went to request him to abstain 
from an affray. The last time I had seen him (except on 
the previous day) was when, after being hurled from the cliffs 
by Donacha Maclan, he was drawn up, bleeding and insensible. 

I could not decide in what way to approach him. I thought 
it best to leave that until I should learn the nature of my re- 
ception. Arrived at his lodgings, which were in the finest 
part of the town, I sent my name to the count, and was 
presently waited upon by his old valet and requested to step 
into his private room. 1 found him in a rich dressing gown, 
in an easy chair ; the room in disorder : having the appear- 
ance of preparation for a journey or removal. Articles of 
fancy, destined apparently for a lady, were scattered around, 
and everything exhibited an unsettled state of things. 

As I entered, Vautrey rose and came toward me. Holding 
out his hand, he said, “ This is I presume the Mr. Saint Leger 
I met in Scotland, although I should not now recognise you. 
We are older — both of us — than we were five years ago. 
I remember there were words between us. I will say, let 
them be forgotten. I suppose you come to be present at the 
bridal. You have lived some time in Leipsic, I believe.” 

This was spoken naturally and without effort, while he re- 
tained my hand which it was impossible for me not to have 
extended to meet his own. “ But sit down,” he continued, 
“ Miguel, some wine. When have you heard from our Scot- 
tish friends ; do you fancy that bewitching Ella as much as 


SAINT LEGER. 


37 


ever, or have you lost your heart here, where maidens are 
more amiable, if not more captivating. Seriously, how are 
your friends at home, and how are you 

I was mastered at the outset by the careless freedom, ease, 
ready appreciation and cleverness of this profound dissimu- 
lator. His practical world-knowledge seemed an over-match 
for the book-wisdom of the student. I felt that there was a force 
brought into the field, against which T had none similar to 
oppose ; and that I was in danger of losing the day, not 
from want of strength to conduct the contest, but from loss 
of the vantage ground. A straight forward course was 
the only one for me to pursue. As soon therefore as Vautrey 
paused in his inquiries, I replied, quietly, that my friends at 
home were well, that I had not come to Dresden to attend 
the bridal, but to see what I could do to prevent it, and to 
that end had in the first instance called upon him. I went on 
to say (Vautrey showing no signs of impatience), that I be- 
lieved the proposed union would make Leila miserable, and 
that I trusted, unpleasant as the truth might be, he was inca 
pable of destroying the happiness of so lovely a creature by 
insisting on the fulfilment of a promise made to soothe the last 
moments of a dying father. 

He listened with composure, until I finished. I had ex- 
pected to be interrupted but he had learnt the lesson of ab- 
solute control. “ Saint Leger,” he now said, “ you expect to 
see me angry — most men would be so — at this unwarranta- 
ble interference between Leila and myself ; for I can not pre- 
sume that you have her sanction in calling upon me 1 
shook my head; “but,” he proceeded, “I am not angry; 
I have lived too long to be angi'y ; besides I take what you 
have said in good part, believing that you are honest. I will 
be equally frank with you. I have lived in the world and 
have had my pleasure in it ; I have gratified my senses, I 


376 


SAINT LEGER. 


have pleased my tastes ; what wealth could purchase or health 
could enjoy I have possessed ; I have never missed my aim, 
nor been cheated of desired revenge ; I have been successful 
with women and have defied men ; the world has been my 
minister and it has served me faithfully; — for all that, at six- 
and-twenty I am sated — these things no longer attract or 
pleasure me. I seek some new life, I search for a new enjoy- 
ment, and I would find it with Leila Saint Leger. She is 
mine,” — and his eyes glistened with triumph, in spite of his 
cool manner — “mine, by everything that can make oaths 
binding. Through life I have pursued her, and now she 
shall not escape me. Do not think, however, that I would 
sacrifice her. I know the sex. She will at first resist my 
approaches, she will be unhappy, she will not love me ; 
but time will cure all this. You do not taste your wine — 
come, drink to my happy union with yoiir cousin.” 

“ Excuse me, count, but as I have broached a disagreeable 
subject, let me finish it. What you say does not alter my 
opinion, that Leila’s happiness is now irrevocably at stake, 
and that, as a man of honor, you should release her from the 
promise that binds her. I perceive you will not yield. Are 
there no considerations which I could urge to change your 
decision?” 

“ What mean you ?” he asked, quickly, while a slight red 
spot glowed on either cheek. 

“ Your fortune is ample, count, as you have said ; but it 
might be doubled.” 

“ By Heaven, you shall pay for this!” he exclaimed, starting 
to his feet : “ but no, there shall be no more violence,” he 
said, in a lower tone, as he resumed his seat. “ I understand 
you. Saint Leger, but you do not .understand me ; you have 
had little opportunity to know me, and I acquit you of inten- 
tional insult. Others may call me what they will ; unscru- 


SAINT LEGER. 


377 


pulous, abandoned, a debauchee, a villain; but in this business 
I have, as I said to you, a new purpose, a new hope. I tell 
you, I have set my life upon this venture, and with my life 
only will I abandon it. Say no more to me. Leila, I know, 
does not authorize this application ; you can not get her con- 
sent to your interference ; but I give you credit for good pur- 
poses, else I had not listened a moment. As it is, you must 
be satisfied. I offer you my hand as:ain ; I do not ask you to 
pledge me in the glass ; let the wine remain untasted, if you 
will have it so, but — you are the nearest relative Leila has 
upon the continent — will you not be present at the cere- 
mony 'I It will take place to-morrow evening at seven, pre- 
cisely, in the cathedral.” 

“ I will be there, count. Good morning.” I turned and 
left the room. 

XXXI. 

On the way to my hotel I revolved this interview, to dis- 
cover a clue to the unexpected conduct of Vautrey. I came 
to the conviction that he had, in a manner, spoken truth with 
regard to himself. He had run so completely the round of 
pleasures, that they sickened rather than gi’atified : his life 
had been so continually spent in making enemies, and in op- 
posing them, that he was tired of strife, and longed to be at 
peace. It was especially undesirable to provoke a quarrel at 
the present time, when his plans were about to be realized 
and particularly dangerous to excite me to further opposition. 
Such being his feelings and position, his conduct — taking into 
view his adroitness to adapt himself to occasions, without 
scruple — was easily explained. 

Although foiled in my object, I was not deceived. But, 
without some assent to our action from Leila, what, after all,- 
could be done ? As it was, she was resolutely determined to 


378 


SAINT LEGER. 


prevent any interference in her behalf. And so, thought I, 
Laurent de Vautrey triumphs at last! this is the reward of a 
life of wickedness ! after he is satisfied with everything the 
senses can enjoy ; after years of debauchery and violence, he 
is to lay hold on the only happiness that remains, and to pos- 
sess the only object he desires. A thoughtless reproach of 
Providence was about to escape my lips, but I restrained it. 


XXXII. 

Leila, then, was to be sacrificed. How little really did 
Vautrey know of woman’s nature; how mistaken was he in 
supposing his had been the school in which to learn it. Be- 
fore reaching the Stadt-Priissien, I had formed a new design; 
I would make an effort to see my cousin, and try what per- 
suasion would do. Taking a carriage, I drove to the house 
of Madame de Marschelin. She was at home, and I thought it 
best to obtain what information I could from her. This lady 
was one of those fortunate persons with whom the world al- 
ways goes smoothly ; ‘hough kind-hearted and amiable, she 
had not soul enough l«.‘ suffer from any occurrence that was 
likely to happen. She could not understand the calamity 
which had now fallen upon the lovers, or the agony it brought 
with it. I found little satisfaction in my conversation with her. 
She was distressed that Leila was so unhappy. She wondered 
how her father could have been so cruel ; but fathers were cruel 
sometimes; at least young girls were apt to think so; not that 
Leila thought so ; she was a sweet creature, a pattern of obedi- 
ence; she loved her as if she were her own child — she was 
sure she did. Who could tell but it was best so ? Count V au- 
trey was of a noble family ; he was said to be too gay ; but, 
doubtless, he would reform. I grew faint under this good- 
natured exhibition of heartlessness, and without attempting to 


SAINT LEGER. 


379 


prolong the intei*view, asked if I could see my cousin. Ma- 
dame de Marschelin regretted that it was impossible, “ Leila, 
poor child, would see no one.” At length I prevailed upon 
madame to take to her a note, in these words ; 

“ Leila, I must see you before the ceremony. I claim this 
as your kinsman and natural protector.” 

In a few minutes she returned, with the following : 

“ It is impossible — do not urge it.” 

“ I knew it would be so,” said her guardian ; “ Dear child, 
how firm ! well, I suppose it is all for the best.” 

XXXIII. 

It was late in the afternoon ; sick at heart, exhausted by 
fatigue, weak for want of food — having tasted nothing since 
my early breakfast at the halfway house — I returned to the 
Stadt-Priissien. There I found Macklorne and Wallenroth, 
impatiently waiting for me. The former had evidently been 
exerting himself to sustain his companion, and, in so doing, as- 
sumed a cheerfulness which he could not feel. I gave a re- 
port of my own movements, which seemed to take away what 
remained of hope — yet Macklorne would not despair. There 
is another day left. Providence will not desert us ; let us 
hope yet. An ample dinner, prepared by the considerate 
directions of Macklorne, was in readiness ; and after it, over- 
come by fatigue of body and mind, we all retired. 

XXXIV. 

Through the night I was oppressed with dreams and night- 
mare. At one time I was at home in Warwickshire, listen- 
ing with a heavy heart to the arguments of De Lisle ; then 
suddenly transported to St. Kilda, where, losing my footing, I 
seemed falling from the cliffs of Conagra into the foaming 


380 


SAINT LEGER. 


abyss below ; next I was at Glencoe, bending over the 
wounded Glenfinglas, while fierce black eyes glowered at me 
from the adjoining thicket ; and then I was walking in the 
professor’s garden, with Theresa Von Hofrath, and while en- 
joying her companionship, Leila came running down the 
walk pursued by Vautrey, and implored my protection. The 
violence of the appeal awoke me. Starting up, I discovered 
that it was not yet day. But, I could sleep no more. The 
leaden weight that had oppressed me when a child now sat 
upon my heart. Memory, of all the faculties, was most 
wakeful. I revolved the scenes of my childhood ; I thought 
of my mother and her gentle counsels ; I essayed to repeat 
the little prayers she used to teach me ; and Conscience then 
whispered that I had sinned against God, and my own soul, 
but I controlled myself and was calm. I resolved not to 
yield to nervous fears or to be miserable without a cause. 
Then, I thought, I would commend mysfelf to God and sum- 
mon Faith to my assistance. I tried, and — could not. At 
length I remembered where I was, and for what, and my 
mind sought relief in thinking what might yet be done for 
Leila. Thus occupied, I lay till it was quite light, when 1 
rose, dressed, and went down. 


XXXV. 

Macklorne was up before me. Wallenroth, he said, 
after a most unquiet night, had just fallen asleep. At the 
end of considerable discussion we concluded we had done all 
which could be done, without Leila’s assistance ; but that we 
would be present at the marriage ceremony, ready to take ad- 
vantage of anything favorable to our hopes. As a last ex- 
pedient I despatched a note to Leila, stating our design, beg- 
ging she would still reconsider her decision, and giving as- 


SAINT LEGER. 


381 


surances that at the last moment even, we should be ready to 
rescue her. I, myself, knew too well her resolute spirit to 
believe anything could alter her determination. 

XXXVI. 

The time passed gloomily. We did not separate; but 
continued to discuss one project after another, with feverish 
excitement. W^e walked about the town, we visited the 
cathedral, we went up to the altar, and stood where Vautrey 
and Leila were to stand. We even selected the place whence 
we should ourselves observe the ceremonial ; Heinrich ac- 
quiescing, as one to whom everything had become indifferent. 
Afterward, restless and impatient, we paced up and down 
the street. 


XXXVII. 

The day was spent. The hour arrived which should give 
Leila Saint Leger to Laurent de Vautrey. A few minutes 
before this, W allenroth, Macklorne, and myself, had taken 
our places by a small chapel on the left of the altar. The 
immense wax candles around it were burning ; they emitted 
no cheerful light, but added to the gloom which pervaded the 
cathedral. After a few minutes two carriages drove up, and 
presently Leila entered, leaning upon the arm of Madame de 
Marscheliri, followed closely by Vautrey. Several attendants 
on either side waited at the door within the church. 

As Leila advanced, my eyes were fastened upon her. I 
endeavored to mark some sign of wavering purpose, but 
could not ; her face was very pale, but her step was firm, her 
form erect, her air composed and dignified — she would do 
nothing even in appearance to violate the spirit of her prom- 
ise. Vautrey, too, bore himself with an easy elegance, which, 


SAINT LEGER. 


under other circumstances, would have challenged my admira- 
tion. An anxious furtive glance thrown around the gloomy 
chapels and recesses of the cathedral, however, gave evidence 
of some perturbation of spirit. They approached the altar 
together. For an instant I turned to look at my companions. 
Wallenroth seemed stupified, and was gazing vacantly on the 
scene ; Macklorne, on the contrary, was excited to an almost 
incredible degree ; a frown was upon his brow ; his eyes 
shone with fierceness ; his form was dilated ; his breathing 
distinctly audible. The sound of the priest’s voice brought 
my attention back to the parties ; up to this moment I was 
calm ; now a tremor seized me, a giddy sensation oppressed 
me, and I leaned against one of the columns for support. 

XXXVITI. 

The ceremony went on — the moments to me seemed ages; 
the responses had been demanded and were made by Leila, 
in a firm unwavering voice ; and the priest had taken the 
ring in order to complete the rite. At this moment, a moan 
at my side caused me to turn ; Wallenroth had sunk down in- 
sensible. The priest paused, startled by the interruption ; 
a gesture from Vautrey recalled him to his duty ; but now a 
slight disturbance was heard, proceeding from the entrance ; 
the noise increased — the priest paused again — when a hide- 
ous creature with the aspect of a fiend, darted swiftly for- 
ward, and before one could say what it was, lighted with a 
single bound upon the shoulders of the count. I saw the 
glitter of steel aloft, and flashing suddenly downward ; I saw 
Vautrey fall heavily upon the mosaic — dead. His execu- 
tioner crouched a rr.oment over him, with a brute fierceness ; 
then drew the dirk from the wound, and as drops of blood 
fell from its point, sprang quickly toward me, shaking 

\ 


SAINT LEGEll. 


383 


the weapon with a wild and triumphant air, and exclaiming 
“ Tat’s petter dune.” The truth flashed upon me — I beheld 
in the repulsive wretch before me the creature we had en- 
countered at the toll-gate — the wild savage seen at St. Kilda 
— the fierce cataran of the highlands, the leal subject of Glen- 
finglas — Donacha Mac Ian. 


XXXIX. 

It is impossible to describe the suddenness with which all 
this took place. A scene of confusion ensued; the party 
about the door ran in and secured the miserable Donacha, 
who indeed made no resistance. 

Macklorne rushed forward and bent over the body of the 
murdered man; Wallenroth’s senses returned and he was at 
Leila’s side. She herself, though nearly overcome by the 
horror of the scene, looked as if breathing grateful thanks to 
Heaven. 

Madame de Marschelin was for a moment in bodily terror 
of the assassin ; that removed, she became composed and re- 
marked that it was an awful visitation of Providence. The 
priest was nowhere to be seen; he had fled into a private 
recess, and did not appear till satisfied all danger was past. 
For myself, I stood and surveyed the spectacle. All that I 
had ever known of Leila and of Vautrey passed, as a single 
thought, through my mind; another seal was set to a life- 
impression. What was man. proud man in the hands of the 
Almighty ? How futile his plans — how vain his hopes — 
how mysterious his end ! 

I went up, and with Macklorne attempted to raise the 
body of the unfortunate Vautrey. Calling to the attendants 
who now approached, we succeeded, with their assistance, in 


384 


SAINT LEGEK. 


placing it in the carriage which we accompanied to his late 
apartments. 

Macklorne undertook to convey information of the catas- 
trophe to parties named by Madame de Marschelin as busi- 
ness agents of the count. Friend or relative he had none. 

XL. 

The next day, impelled by a curiosity I could not restrain, 
I made inquiry for Donacha and was told that although 
placed, as was supposed, in secure confinement, he had 
managed to escape from prison and could not be found. I 
learned afterward that in a very short space of time he pre- 
sented himself to Glenfinglas at Kilchum Castle, and holding 
up the blood-stained dirk, fell at the . feet of his master and 
expired ; illustrating the nature of his relentless spirit and 
the fierce and indomitable passions which sustained him to 
the last. 


XLI. 


It is time to pause. 

Leila is happy in the arms of Heinrich Wallenroth. Fran- 
cis and Margaret Moncrieff are both agreeably wedded. 
Hubert and Ella, gay and light-hearted, are satisfied with 
the world. At Bertold Castle time passes serenely and with- 
out drawback. 

For myself — what? Theresa, I hasten to you — no, I 
must not. The resolution is taken 

Come, Macklorne, let uf out into life. 


THE END. 
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